


Recovery Position

by undun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drug Use, Grief, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undun/pseuds/undun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>lupin_snape (Insane Journal Asylum) Retro Fest Prompt 44. OotP era- "Moony, you alright? I heard you groaning and--CHRIST! Shit, Moony, sorry, I didn't rea--wait...is that SNAPE?!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parts 1 & 2

**Author's Note:**

> Drug use in Chapter 2, self-medicating drunkenness, and general thick-headedness throughout.

**1\. “Spectacle”**  
  
I am teaching in a demountable.  
  
What else is there to do?  
  
I teach, and I devise suitable potions to treat juvenile Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Hogwarts lies in ruins, as does Lord Voldemort. As does Albus Dumbledore, and – though we never found his remains – Harry Potter.  
  
I have been unable to devise a suitable potion to treat my own condition. It reminds me of that Muggle saying: Physician, heal thyself. Would that I could. Perhaps knowing exactly what my condition is would aid me in my task.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
It is lunchtime in this hazily bright world – how I long for my dungeons! We have fashioned a large tent into an adequate dining hall. It is almost as big as the original, and, with the illusion of stone walls on the canvas, it is easy to lull one’s senses into believing one is back at the castle.  
  
The children are slowly losing their peaky, silent demeanours, and their chatter is filling the confined space in an annoying, but nonetheless satisfying, manner. He arrives, an unwelcome addition to my immediate environment, as my eyes are gazing fondly into the depths of my wine glass. He looks simultaneously stretched and condensed through the lens of the glass – a sideshow figure. He walks with a bone weary stride up to the Head Table and addresses McGonagall.  
  
“Headmistress, could I trouble you for a meal?”  
  
“Of course, Sirius! We’d be honoured. Do sit down, here–” She busies herself with transfiguring her spare glass into a chair for him and places it beside hers. On my side, actually – he’s going to sit next to me. Bugger.  
  
I chew slowly on my food – I can’t remember what it is; tastes like Filch’s socks – and am aware of him pausing to stare at me before he sits down. The back of my neck feels burnt from his gaze.  
  
“Snape.”  
  
“Black.”  
  
We acknowledge each other’s existence. And that is enough to be going on with. Albus is gone and we don’t have to play nice anymore.  
  
“So, Sirius, any interesting news for us today?”  
  
He heaves a heavy sigh before replying to Minerva’s question. Such bloody theatrics! Anyone would think he had lost more than anyone else in the final battle. He did lose his bloody godson, but I’m sure that was inevitable given the man’s utter incompetence. Idiot.  
  
“We did find something in a section of the ruins, actually.”  
  
Well, at least he’s not blustering.  
  
“Oh, really?” Minerva’s fork makes a slight clatter as she abandons her lunch to peer closely at Black. “What was it?”  
  
I am watching out of the corner of my eye as he slides a hand into his robe pocket and pulls out… something. He places it on the table near Minerva – his shoulder blocks my view and I can’t see what it is. I will not lean and stare, I will not lean and stare, I will not–  
  
Minerva makes a gasping noise. I lean forward to stare.  
  
It is a small twisted metal frame.  
  
It’s Potter’s glasses. Or what’s left of them.  
  
I have the sudden urge to leave, and, before I produce a good rationalisation, I am pushing my chair back hastily to escape the room, and the table, and the item everyone is now chattering about. My attempt to depart does not go unnoticed.  
  
“Severus! Is everything alright?” Minerva asks in a tremulous tone. I nod quickly and turn to go.  
  
“What’s wrong, Snape? Is your guilt making you sick?”  
  
I can’t believe he said that. On some level I am aware of the whispering around me, but all I can really see is his snide, blue-eyed Gryffindor face.  
  
“You utter imbecile! I wasn’t the one who let him get killed!” I vaguely notice someone nearby protesting.  
  
His eyes narrow and I watch every breath he takes in. His face is growing steadily redder – with any luck he’ll keel over with a heart attack, and I’m sure I’ll never be able to find the right potion in time to treat him.  
  
“You were supposed to give us reliable information, if you remember, Snape? You were responsible for the early warning that never came!”  
  
Someone’s hand is pulling on his arm, stopping his advance. His chair lies overturned behind him. No one tries to hold me back as I move closer to the enraged idiot. They know better than to touch me.  
  
“Oh, that is rather simplistic, even for you, Black. Voldemort knew I was a bloody spy! He deliberately gave me false information, you fool!”  
  
“How convenient for you that we will never be able to verify that claim! Is it coincidence that this information has only appeared after the event? After everyone who might have corroborated your story is dead?”  
  
I am now so angry that I feel cold all over. I am officially out of control. I’m aware of it, but there is simply nothing I can do. Once I get this far —  
  
I take another step forward. “Exactly what,” I begin, “are you accusing me of?”  
  
He wheels around. I think he’s leaving the field of conflict, and I am torn between relief and frustration – I want to hammer the prick, but instead he gropes on the table and whirls back to me holding…  
  
“You! You fucking killed him, you bastard!”  
  
I stare at the mangled mess of wire in his hand. No. No–  
  
“No.”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
He waves them in my face. I put up my hand to shield my eyes. It’s like looking into the sun, into all possible futures, and I’ve chosen the wrong one to live in.  
  
“You fool. I loved him.”  
  
There is a silence. Maybe there was before, but I wasn’t aware of it. Now I can’t hear anybody, just the ragged beating inside my chest, and the hoarse, winded sound of Black’s breathing.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I said I loved him. I loved Harry Potter. He’s gone, I can’t have him, I can’t take him to bed and hold him, I can’t get him drunk on firewhisky until his eyes cross, I can’t teach him the finer points of anonymous hexing, I can’t do any of it. Nothing. I wanted…” My eyes rest on his face; it is curiously blank.  
  
“I was waiting – I would have waited years, for as long as it took, to spend what time I have on this Earth with him, in whatever way I could.” I look back down at his hand, which has dropped to his side, holding the glasses loosely.  
  
“Please?” I move my hand out. Black brings the pathetic things up to look at them again – he seems surprised to see them there in his hand. He looks at me and I meet his eyes for what feels like an eternity. He suddenly breaks the thin metal in half. Holds one piece out in my direction.  
  
“You’re a fucking freak, Snape,” he says as I take the piece gingerly off his palm.  
  
“Yes, I am.” I confirm as I make my way to the door. This time nothing holds me back.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
 **2\. “Chemistry”**  
  
I place my artefact on the table next to my armchair and open the case I have been nursing on my lap. My latest treatment for my condition: a Muggle device known as a hypodermic, and small ampules of something called Morphine. Nectar of Morpheus. Wickedly effective. My own personal chemistry set – the best that Knockturn Alley could supply.  
  
I aim a soft spell at the vein in my left arm; it engorges nicely and I slide the loaded needle into it gently. The sweat is gathering on my forehead as I slowly depress the syringe. I murmur a stasis charm to hold the chemical until I place the syringe back in the case and lock it. Must cover my tracks while I still have my wits about me. Soon nothing will matter, not a single thing will bother me. Nothing will weigh down my soul, and I will have no regrets – about the fate of teenaged boys, about my cursed predilection for one particular dead one, about my own inability to express my longing… my…  
  
I get to the bed before the drug takes the use of my limbs from me.  
  
Everything is… fine. I feel fine. I feel that I am beautiful, that anyone would want to love me, that I don’t really need it anyway. I just am. It’s enough to exist.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
I wake up with the bent, burnt remains of his glasses in a twisted unrecognisable lump on the duvet. I must have picked them up unknowing last night – tripped with my fist squeezed around them.  
  
I don’t feel any particular grief about it. Nothing matters much. I am glad that the drug’s effects have not entirely worn off as my memory reminds me of what exactly took place in the canvas expanse of the banquet hall yesterday. Shite.  
  
Oh well; I was always the freak amongst the Hogwarts staff, now I am the queer, student-molesting freak amongst the Hogwarts staff. Perhaps I will have an enhanced ability to terrify small boys on the back of yesterday’s revelations.  
  
It’s about the only bright side I can think of.  
  
I drag myself into the shower to try to shock some lucidity into my brain. I can’t afford to be off my stride when I teach the remaining Slytherin and Gryffindor seventh-years this afternoon. They will both hate me. My clan, for the way I have betrayed them by confessing my regard for the student who most symbolised Gryffindor and all it stood for -- and the Gryffindor students will hate me for sullying the memory of their dear departed friend and hero. They will probably count him much better off in martyrdom than here at school, running the risk of my groping him in an empty classroom one dark, stormy evening.  
  
I am unprepared for the sheer number of students at breakfast. I can only surmise that for some reason there are more present at this breakfast than at any other I have attended. I wonder why that would be? Some of the early birds should have flown off by now, as I am not particularly prompt in reaching my seat. Shouldn’t they be off flying broomsticks or snogging under the Quidditch stands before the first class?  
  
There seems to be a lot of whispering. Excited whispering. And… they are looking at me. I sigh to myself. I suppose it was to be expected. They are hanging back to gawk at the queer freak.  
  
“Severus, have you seen the paper yet?”  
  
I look to see what Minerva is prattling about. I hadn’t picked up my copy of the Daily Prophet this morning. I had other things on my mind. It is no doubt still folded neatly on my sitting-room table.  
  
‘Boy Who Lived Living In Tibet’  
  
My fingers grasp the edges of the newspaper. It feels dry and smooth. The paper stock is quite fine for a daily paper, but then the proprietors have always had the delusion that theirs was a quality publication. Still, I suppose it makes for a smoother arse-wipe.  
  
Strange headline… nonsensical, actually. No punctuation to speak of. Typical. I hand the paper back to Minerva wordlessly. Merlin knows what the devil she’s on about. I turn back to my breakfast and bite down on some buttered crumpet.  
  
“Severus?”  
  
What now? She’s looking at me strangely; it’s conceivable that her eyes are protruding even more than usual. I raise my eyebrow in question, my mouth too busy chewing to voice the query.  
  
“He’s alive!” she whispers emphatically.  
  
Alive? Who the fuck is alive then?  
  
Oh. Right. The headline: Boy Who Lived… Lives. Harry Potter is living in Tibet.  
  
He’s alive.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
I’m in the staff bathroom. I have no idea how I came to be here. I am bent low over a toilet bowl and I am looking down at the meagre remains of my crumpet, and whatever it was I ate yesterday – it’s not in very good shape; sort of green.  
  
Potter’s alive. How can this seem simultaneously like the worst and best possible news? I am glad that he’s alive, but… fuck! Couldn’t he have been discovered a day earlier? Just one day and my reputation and sanity would have remained somewhat intact.  
  
Someone is knocking on the door.  
  
“Piss off. I’m busy.”  
  
“Severus, let me in.”  
  
It’s the werewolf. Now, class, we will see what depths of humiliation the day has in store for us. I clamber upwards and aim roughly for the door. I get the latch on the second try. Damn fool could have saved me the bother with an Alohamora, couldn’t he? But no, he has to be polite. I lean against the wall to watch him warily, waiting for the gloat to show on his normally impassive face. Poker face like that – he really should have gone to Slytherin.  
  
“How are you managing, Severus?”  
  
“Well enough.”  
  
He takes a step closer, clearing the door’s path and locking it shut behind him. I shouldn’t be afraid of him, should I? I blame my sudden paranoia on my recent chemical indulgences.  
  
“You stink.” He sniffs the air in front of me with a disturbingly animalistic air.  
  
“Eau de Vomit, Lupin. If you don’t like my cologne, do feel free to leave. Now.”  
  
I hate the weakness I can detect in my own voice.  
  
“No. There’s something… it’s in your skin,” he sniffs again.  
  
“Will you fucking stop!”  
  
He freezes at my shout. His eyes are large and glinting, surrounded by fine lines – worry lines. He has plenty to worry about, of course, but I never saw it show in his face until now.  
  
“What?”  
  
He sighs softly, “Classes have been suspended. Minerva has just received official confirmation. Harry’s alive and he’s on the way home.”  
  
He smiles when he finishes. I simply pant, trying to catch my breath. I have the sudden urge to fall over.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
I blink, surprised to see the canopy of my own bed above me. That was the most vivid hallucination I have yet experienced. I can still smell traces of vomit.  
  
“Severus? Are you awake?”  
  
Right then, not a dream. I really do have vomit on my robe. I make a move to sit up.  
  
“Not so fast. You need to recuperate.”  
  
Lupin has taken my shoulder in a firm grip, stopping my ascent halfway and placing another pillow behind me before lowering me back down. He is surprisingly strong for someone so slight. I should have guessed as much – he did survive a childhood of monthly self-mutilation, after all.  
  
“You’ve been a right idiot, Severus, haven’t you?” Lupin is holding the case for my Muggle chemistry set. It is open and exposing my secret. “Do you know what this stuff will do to you with long-term use?”  
  
I content myself with glaring at him. He had no business snooping through my belongings and I will not engage in this conversation on principle. How does he know about Muggle drugs, anyway?  
  
“I’ve used it myself.” He drags a chair up to the bedside and sits wearily, his hands toying with the case. “It works for a while, the pain recedes, the memory blurs, and you feel… good. It’s the only time you do after a while.”  
  
I can’t stop staring at him. Despite everything, I’ve always thought of Remus Lupin as a survivor, someone who never gave in to despair. I find myself angry that he has dispelled my long held perception of constancy in Gryffindors. Deluded they may be, but never desperate.  
  
Discounting Sirius Black, of course, who would have been a brainless ponce in any house.  
  
“Lupin.” His gaze travels up to meet mine, “How did…” No, I will not be that pathetic in front of anybody. Albus is dead and he has taken my worst moments on this earth with him. No one else needs to plumb the depths of my murky soul, thank you. I pause to wonder about his pensieve. It couldn’t possibly have survived the razing of Hogwarts. Thank Merlin.  
  
“I ran out of money. I lost my job, and with no income I couldn’t keep up my supply. Cold turkey. I thought I was dying.”  
  
He has answered me regardless. Cold turkey. And what a cheery proposition that is. No real need to kick the habit, is there?  
  
“You have to make some plans to stop, before it gets more of a hold on you.” His eyes are shining in the dim light of my bedchamber. “Before it changes you,” he adds in a whisper.  
  
“Did it change you?” I don’t really want to know. Do I? His eyes drop to his hands again.  
  
“Yes. I killed someone.”  
  
Shite. Not Lupin. I have lived my life since the age of sixteen trying to convince myself that the werewolf wouldn’t have really killed me in that tunnel – that my fear was irrational. It appears that I was right all along.  
  
“You,” I begin and then find my throat closing in fear and disgust. Swallowing, I manage to get the question out. “You mauled them as, as the wolf?”  
  
“Merlin, no!” he exclaims, standing up in agitation. “How could you think–” And then he stops with his back to me. “Of course, you of all people would think just that.” He turns back with shoulders slumped. He looks very tired.  
  
“I was attacked. It was just a boy looking to roll me for some money. I don’t know why he thought I would have any,” he adds quietly. “I killed him because I didn’t have enough control not to,” he finishes. “You’re the only other person alive who knows. I didn’t tell anyone else but Albus.”  
  
So many dark bloody secrets that man kept. How did he hold them all in? And look at his legacy – a threadbare werewolf and a drugged-out Potions Master running loose in his school, or what’s left of it.  
  
“You’ll need to have a fair amount of chocolate handy. I’ll talk to Poppy.”  
  
He lurches towards the door while I am still reeling over the implication that I am going to kick my nasty habit under his watchful eye. And shite again! Who died and made him Dumbledore?  
  
*** *** ***


	2. Parts 3 & 4

**3\. “Barking Mad”**  
  
I suppose I must have dozed off again as I awaken to the sound of a fist pounding on the outer door of my quarters. I feel truly horrid.  
  
“Moony! Are you in there?”  
  
I still have enough self-control to stop myself from leaping off the bed – even in my enfeebled state I estimate that I could hex Sirius Black into next week without really trying.  
  
“Shhh! Keep the noise down, he’s asleep.” Not any-bloody-more, he isn’t.  
  
I hear the wooden door closing. Not the satisfying clank of my old dungeon chambers, just the dull thud of an unpainted new door hitting wooden doorjamb. The staff quarters have been given priority in the rebuilding process, with local stonemasons and builders volunteering their time and expertise. I suppose I should feel more gratitude in the face of their unpaid efforts – but I so crave the dark, and it’s not a problem for which they seem inclined to find a solution. I make do with drawn curtains, day or night. One day I shall dig a very large hole.  
  
“I don’t know! They say he’s not himself.”  
  
Black’s raised voice is discernible in my bedroom. His tone is anguished. Normally this would give me some gratification, but in this instance, unfortunately, it gives me a feeling of unease, as it no doubt involves one resurrected teenaged wizard of our mutual acquaintance. I stumble to the door and open it.  
  
“What’s this about Potter?”  
  
“Severus,” Lupin says in a soothing tone, “Try not to worry yourself. If it were a serious problem he wouldn’t be permitted to travel.” I look at him steadily. He’s humouring me, isn’t he?  
  
“Lupin,” I grind out with admirable control, intending to get to the bottom of the problem, serious or not, with Potter – but, inevitably, Black interrupts me. His reaction to seeing me being handled with kid gloves is predictable.  
  
“Do you fucking mind, Moony? It’s only my fucking godson we’re talking about here! If there’s any tea and sympathy going ‘round I think I merit a serving first.”  
  
If I were capable of laughter, I think I would definitely be laughing at this moment. What a twat. However, he might be persuaded to tell me about Potter.  
  
“What has happened to him?” I enquire. Black is so very disgusted with his comrade’s behaviour that he’s willing to entertain the notion of talking civilly to me.  
  
“He, ah, apparently, lost his memory,” he mutters in reply. Yes, of course. Otherwise he would have fetched up back here months ago, instead of remaining undiscovered amongst a bunch of orange-robed ascetics, chanting and contemplating his navel all day. Typical.  
  
“Does he know who he is now?” My tone is a touch waspish. I believe I don’t give a stuff.  
  
“Um, he knows his name, but has no idea what it means. No sense of his past or his identity. At least that’s what they’ve told me so far. They want him to go straight to St Mungo’s, to start treatment for amnesia.”  
  
“Bloody quacks. They’ll probably pump him full of Restituo and wonder what the fuck is going wrong when he starts spouting his past history as a slave at the court of Ramses II.  
  
“That’s very bloody reassuring, isn’t it?” Black whines in protest.  
  
“Reassuring you is not in my job description, unfortunately; I would so love to provide you with the support you deserve, Black. Lupin, however, is very talented in that field, I’m sure that he will not mind in the slightest taking you back to your quarters for a little chat.” I turn hopefully to Lupin to see if my ploy has been successful. Am I to be free of my shadow for even a short time? He is smiling at me. My guess is not.  
  
“I’m not so easy to cast off, Severus. You’ll have to try a damn sight harder than that.”  
  
“Damn you, Lupin!” I think I might be a little stressed. He’s still smiling at me as he takes my elbow and turns me towards the bedroom door.  
  
In a pointless show of independence, I shake off Lupin’s hold and stalk back to my bed. Or I try to. I am a few feet from my bed when a feel an irresistible urge to purge my intestines. And so I do. It lasts forever. When it finally stops I am convinced that I will see my own eyeballs looking up at me when I look down.  
  
I really don’t want to look down.  
  
I hear a cleansing charm take care of my unplanned decoration on the rug, and then it feels like I am being lifted. Strange sensation.  
  
“What was that all about?”  
  
“He’s going through withdrawal.”  
  
“From what?”  
  
“Morphine.”  
  
“What the fuck!”  
  
“Shhh! He’s been on morphine since Voldemort fell. Just pull the covers up off the floor, will you?”  
  
“But why? Oh.”  
  
“Yes. Harry.”  
  
“Merlin’s manky jockstrap. We need to talk about this.”  
  
“What, you and me?”  
  
“Yeah, we need a plan for when Harry gets back.”  
  
“Sirius, he won’t bother Harry. I doubt he’ll want to be anywhere near him at all.”  
  
“No, no – that’s not what I meant!”  
  
“Shhh! What then?”  
  
“Harry’s gay.”  
  
“He’s gay? And you think – what exactly?”  
  
“He’ll go for Snape of course!”  
  
“SHHH!”  
  
I nearly jump at the sibilant sound echoing in the room, in my head. Voldemort has started instructing his serpent. I must have drifted off during a meeting! “Forgive me… my Lord…” I hope he’s feeling mellow, another Cruciatus could carry me off.  
  
“It’s alright, Severus. Go back to sleep.”  
  
A warm hand strokes my forehead. It’s very soothing.  
  
“Why would Harry go for Severus just because he’s gay? He didn’t before.”  
  
Is that Lucius and Rosier? So is Avery touching me? ‘S very nice. “Mmmm…”  
  
“He wanted to.”  
  
“What stopped him, apart from being a student?”  
  
“Well, there was the fact that as a student he didn’t think Snape would consider it seriously, and he felt too young to be with someone his father’s age – an opinion which I supported strongly, while stressing that Snape really didn’t like him in the slightest. But besides that, he just couldn’t handle the fact that Snape still had a Dark Mark.”  
  
“And now he doesn’t–”  
  
“Yeah,  _and_  Harry won’t remember any of their history as student and teacher.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“Moony, what’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing. I begin to see the problem.”  
  
“Yup. We need a plan.”  
  
“You may be right. Severus is in no condition to deal with this right now. Just let me see if he’ll take some chocolate and then we can go sit outside.”  
  
“Okay. Oh, you know something? Harry’s got amnesia, maybe he’ll have forgotten that he’s gay!”  
  
“Sirius–”  
  
“I’ll wait outside.”  
  
Someone is trying to choke me, trying to force something down my throat. Not more Veritaserum! I cough frantically, trying to dislodge it.  
  
“Severus! It’s just chocolate! Bloody hell!”  
  
There is a wrenching feeling down my gullet and the obstruction clears as if by magic. Actually I think it is magic – of the field medicine variety. My throat feels raw.  
  
“Here, suck on this now.” It’s Lupin trying to force-feed me again. I decide that the path of least resistance just might be the best way for now. I suck and chew on the square of chocolate he has placed in my mouth.  
  
Actually, I feel better. “Thanks,” I dribble.  
  
“Don’t mention it. We’ll be in the sitting room. Get some sleep now, Severus.”  
  
I nod as much as I can with my head glued to the pillow.  
  
“Goodnight.”  
  
The door closes softly. It is so beautifully dark.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
 **4\. “Messiah Dude”**  
  
Oh, for pity’s sake! Why can’t they leave him alone? Lupin keeps staring back at me from amongst the fawning throng. No, you stupid man – I am  _not_  going to press through the mob to tearfully embrace him. Get a grip, man.  
  
He looks… different. Not just six months older.  
  
Well for a start the scar is gone, his most obvious identifying feature. No wonder it took so long to find him. Without that scar, how can he be seen to be any different from any other pale-faced, dark-haired, green-eyed, perfectly-proportioned, alluring… oh, shut-up, do.  
  
Apart from that though… What is it that seems so very unlike him? I believe it is the smile. It’s not infectious, it’s not mischievous, and it’s not frightening (and there were a few of those near the end – as if he knew he’d go down fighting and was determined to take every last Death Eater with him). It is quite calm – almost meditative.  
  
Nothing is ruffling him. Why the hell not?  
  
Lupin finally stalks over to me. He looks like a man with a mission.  
  
“Severus?”  
  
“What do you want, you stupid creature?” He appears surprised by my demeanour for an instant, then he simply smiles in that irritating way that he has.  
  
“Come and say hello, Severus,” he says softly. Does he think that speaking gently – and he usually does, the twit – will somehow make me do his bidding?  
  
My feet are moving.  
  
Potter steps away from all the fawning Weasleys and suddenly I am confronted with–  
  
“And you are Professor Snape?” He holds out his hand. I have taken it in my own before I realise it. It’s warm.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” Has he ever called me sir before? Voluntarily? I remember ‘greasy git,’ not ‘sir.’  
  
“Pleasure, Mister Potter.” The social niceties must be observed. He inches closer and it’s only then that I realise that our hands are still clasped warmly. Dear Merlin. I snatch my hand away with a shudder.  
  
“I understand that I will have to stay another year at Hogwarts in order to finish school, that is…” He looks uncertain for the first time. “… if my memories are recoverable.” The smile he gives me looks a little ragged. So, not invincible then. I find it somewhat reassuring. All that smooth calmness was damn well intimidating.  
  
“I’m sure something can be done for you, Mister Potter.”  
  
“Please, call me Harry.” It makes me wonder what they called him in Tibet – Little Budda? He must have given himself away to the locals with his tendency to levitate whilst meditating. One isn’t supposed to actually  _do_  it.  
  
“Yes, H-Harry. Well, if you’ll excuse me,” I begin to disengage myself from him, becoming aware at the same moment that the crowd around us has been silent the whole time. I’d forgotten they were there.  
  
“Professor,” he stops me with a note of anxiety in his voice. “I understand you are the Potions Master?” I nod my head in agreement. “Do you know anything about this?” He holds out a small bottle – where the devil was he hiding it – with St Mungo’s labelling on the side. Not bloody Restituo, please! I take the bottle gingerly from his hand.  
  
It is.  
  
I draw a deep breath, feeling light-headed as the oxygen hits my bloodstream. What to say? Feed it to the cat? Sprinkle it on the vegetable patch? It would do far more good there. Something more politic is called for. Being an undercover spy all that time made me aware of when not to speak my mind, I suppose.  
  
“It has been helpful for some sufferers of amnesia, I believe.” I can’t help it, “But I wouldn’t set too much store by it, Mist… Harry. Snake oil, in my opinion.” I push the bottle back into his hand, preparing to swirl and exit, at which I am a past master. He stops me again, damn the boy!  
  
“Is there anything that would help, sir?”  
  
I very much wish he hadn’t asked me that. I am cataloguing ingredients and recipes before I even blink. Damn!  
  
“Perhaps.” I escape before he has the chance to take a breath and ask another bloody question.  
  
Lupin follows me into my quarters. He has learnt not to open the curtains. I head straight for the sherry and pour myself an overgenerous amount. “Help yourself.” I mutter at him.  
  
“Thank you, but it’s a little early in the day for me.”  
  
Pious piece of shite.  
  
“Well, that went alright, didn’t it?”  
  
“Go fuck a dog, Lupin.”  
  
“Don’t hold it all in, Sev. Tell me how you really feel.” He has the audacity to laugh. I think I’ll kill him.  
  
“Don’t call me ‘Sev’, it makes me feel Slavic.”  
  
“Sorry,” he rasps. After a moment, “Are you going to be okay?”  
  
I hold my empty glass out to him, “I’m going to get slightly more than squiffy on cheap sherry,” I declare as he fills my glass again.  
  
“I’ll be back after supper – don’t lock me out.”  
  
“I’ll leave the cat-flap unlatched for you.”  
  
I’m mortified when he strokes my shoulder before leaving. A raspy “take care” drifts into my room.  
  
Fuck him. Fuck them all. I want my hypodermic.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
“–’king hell! He may not be an addict anymore, but he’s well on the way to becoming a wino!”  
  
“Help me get him on the bed, Padfoot.”  
  
Wha… The room is spinning.  
  
“S-stop.” If I ask it nicely it just might stop spinning. For a minute. I just need a minute.  
  
“Oh, stuff this! I’m putting him under the shower.”  
  
Who, me? Not on your life, Black. Or death – whichever is appropriate. Black Death – hahaha! I wriggle when the arms reach around to drag me away.  
  
“Padfoot, this could be a bad idea.”  
  
“Nonsense. Just what he needs to sober him up. Hold still, you silly git!”  
  
“Wha’, so y’ can drown me?”  
  
“Ah, good – you won’t drown if you’re awake.”  
  
I can hear the taps being turned on. I’ll just wait here for the water to heat.  
  
“Get up, Snape!” I do wish he’d be quiet – I was having a nice kip. Rough hands. Cold, cold water!  
  
“Merlin-on-a-stick!” I try to crawl out of the shower but he’s holding me in. Shite! “Black…” I blink water out of my eyes furiously, “You’re first on my dance card when the homicidal rampage s-starts.”  
  
“Let him out now, Sirius. He’s much soberer now.”  
  
Is that even a word? “Brilliant, fucking brilliant. Look at my bloody robes, you overgrown testicle!”  
  
“Yeah, that’s sober alright.” He steps back as I swipe hopelessly at my robes with the towel.  
  
“Here, let me help you, Sev.” Lupin tries to pull my outer robe off. It is sticking as only a very wet robe can. My hair is soaking wet and keeps trickling annoyingly down my neck.  
  
“Don’t fucking call me that!”  
  
“Sorry,” he murmurs, then manages to extricate me from my wet robe. “Sirius, why don’t you go make a nice pot of tea?” The oaf obliges by shambling off like a good puppy. I think I’ll kill him.  
  
“What the hell was he thinking?” I practically scream at Lupin when the door is closed behind Black.  
  
“This probably qualifies as one of  _thos_ e times.” he answers me obliquely. Too obliquely.  
  
“What?”  
  
“One of those times that he  _doesn’t_  think.”  
  
“Prick.”  
  
“Mmm-hmmm, but lovable in his own weird way.”  
  
Lovable?  
  
“Lupin,” Dare I ask him about his preference? He and Black have been joined at the hip, apart from Black’s time in Azkaban, for as long as I can remember.  
  
“I lean both ways.”  
  
Fuck. And just how did he know what I was about to ask him?  
  
*** *** ***  
  
When I have my circulation restored and emerge from the bathroom, Black is no longer in my quarters. Thank the stars. Lupin hands me a hot mug of tea and I sigh gratefully as I sit in my chair and sip it slowly. I look at the empty sherry bottle on the table. Bugger and damn! Did I really put all that inside my body? I look across to Lupin where he sits on the small settee. How not to talk about it?  
  
“So, who else knows about your deviant sexual practices?” I take another sip of my tea.  
  
His face creases into a smile and he chuckles softly.  
  
*** *** ***


	3. Parts 5 & 6

**5\. “Being Remus Lupin”**  
  
I pick my way through the edges of a very impressive pile of rubble – I estimate it at slightly over a mile across.  
  
It’s Hogwarts Castle.  
  
The clear, sharp tang of grief slices into me. I want my hypodermic.  
  
“Severus,” he greets me softly. I hadn’t heard his approach, but then I wouldn’t have heard Hagrid, so immersed in my own suffering as I am now.  
  
“Lupin, I need —” I don’t want to beg, but how much is my dignity worth?  
  
“What? What do you need, Sev?”  
  
“Don’t!”  
  
“Sorry. Tell me, Severus.” He places his hands on my shoulders as he faces me squarely, or as squarely as he can get from two inches down. “You’ve been putting this off, haven’t you?” He tips his head at the surrounding debris. “This is the first time you’ve confronted this mess without a narcotic buffer, isn’t it?”  
  
What is the point of denial? I nod and close my eyes. I can’t bear to let him see, to let anyone see. “I need the morphine. I need it now!”  
  
“You know what will happen. One drop and you will prey to the addiction again!”  
  
I shake my head. Somewhere in my brain I know he’s right, but that’s irrelevant to me right now.  
  
“One last dose, that is all, I will not take any more after that. I can do it without becoming addicted. Please!”  
  
Listen to me. I’m begging. I don’t care anymore. Nothing matters but my need. Lupin is silent. I can hear the joints of my shoulders creaking under his hands. Will he?  
  
“No.”  
  
I open my eyes to stare at him. How can he profess to care and yet deny me what I so desperately need? Past his shoulder I can see distant figures outlined against the altered skyline. I can see Black and Potter. Black is still, staring in our direction as Potter turns objects over in his hands.  
  
“Fuck you, Lupin,” I finally manage.  
  
“Alright.”  
  
He places an arm around my shoulder and turns me back to face the teachers’ block. “What are you doing?” I ask in bafflement.  
  
“Taking you to your bedroom,” he answers matter-of-factly.  
  
“What?” It is still light out and I am not the slightest bit sleepy. I step over the rubble, pulled along by his arm’s insistent weight.  
  
“We… are going to  _fuck_ , Sev,” he pronounces.  
  
“Don’t call —” I start automatically. Then it sinks in. I make a mental note to choke the life out of that part of me that registers sudden interest. “No, we aren’t!” I protest. The only person I am remotely interested in sleeping with (or rather, not sleeping – or rather, doing something else with, and then sleeping– where the fuck was I?) is over there, picking through Hogwarts’ remains like some archaeologist from two thousands years hence, and is only eighteen, and has not a clue who I really am.  
  
“Yes we are, Severus.” Lupin adds my name correctly for a change, glancing sidelong at me as we approach the door to my rooms. I’m desperate.  
  
“But, what about — ” I’m struggling to get the word out.  
  
“What? Lubricant?” He pulls an obscenely large bottle from his robes – the notorious ‘Nanny Nesbitt’s Almost-All-Purpose Lubricant’.  
  
“Bloody… Put that away! Someone might see!” I glance around behind us.  
  
“Ashamed of me, Severus?” he enquires gently. Somehow I have opened my door. Why have I opened my door?  
  
“No! Yes! Hell!” Let’s just review that answer, shall we?  
  
I can’t bloody think. The door closes behind us. I smell his sweat immediately. He pulls out his wand and I stiffen in apprehension. Is he going to hex me with some lust-inducing spell? I pause to note that the slightly interested part of me is now registering quite a lot more than a passing interest in fucking Lupin. In fact, any more interest would rip a hole in my robe.  
  
Oh, how I detest the male sexual response.  
  
“Silencio,” Lupin intones with a graceful wave of his wand. The room is now silenced. To hell with it. I hold out my hand and, clever werewolf that he is, he passes the bottle of goo to me. I guess we know who’ll be playing alpha today, hmm?  
  
He starts undressing. Robes, shirt, pants, and ankle-high boots find their way to the floor.  
  
“You’re hairier than I remember,” I finally manage to gasp.  
  
“I was seventeen the last time you saw me unclothed, Severus. Grudge match: Gryffindor versus Slytherin – the only house capable of being poor winners.”  
  
I remember now. “We raided your change room.”  
  
“Came out of the shower green,” he smirks.  
  
Oh, I so want to wipe that knowing smirk off his delectable mouth. When exactly did he start looking so damn appetising?  
  
A sudden fear rises. “If you bite me —”  
  
He frowns for a moment, then approaches me on bare feet as his brow smooths out once more.  
  
“Sev, I’m safe to be with right now. I wouldn’t risk hurting you.” He’s close enough to touch, to kiss.  
  
“Don’t call me Sev,” I admonish him for perhaps the thousandth time.  
  
“Sorry,” he whispers. Then his mouth is on mine. Gently, so gently. I can feel his lips brush dryly against my own, the heat of his saliva as he anoints me with his tongue. My mouth was not pressed closed and he exploits my tactical mistake by pushing his tongue between my lips and running it over my teeth. I might fall over if I don’t grab something to steady myself. Well, he is the nearest stable object.  
  
When my hands reach his shoulders he whimpers quietly. By all that’s unholy – perhaps that male sexual response isn’t quite the curse I had thought. I move my hands over him to see how he will respond. I’m curious. Yes, surely scientific curiosity is to be expected from one in my profession?  
  
He’s moaning low in his chest as I pinch his nipples. His teeth worry at my bottom lip. I feel my robe being pushed from my shoulders. My jacket is next – it doesn’t stand a chance against Lupin’s nimble fingers. I’m mortified that I am shaking as his hands reach my belt buckle.  
  
“Lupin,” I mumble against his mouth.  
  
He stops immediately, pulling back and looking almost frightened as he stares into my eyes. “Yes?”  
  
“I…” I have no idea what to say. ‘I can’t do this’? I most certainly can – I’ve done far worse than a casual shag in my time. ‘I can’t love you’? I’m sure he doesn’t care in the slightest. He knows damn well that he isn’t the object of my affection.  
  
“What?” he prompts, hands still poised at my waist.  
  
“Bedroom,” I finally answer. I nearly topple over when he moves, taking my solid, stable object away from my dizzy self. I carefully bend to retrieve his lubricant from the floor and follow him bedroom-ward.  
  
Hell’s bells! Who’d have suspected such perfect buttocks of him?  
  
I think I just tore my trousers.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
I have made all the necessary preparations and his feet are over my shoulders as I press against his arse. Just do it, man! Take what he so willingly offers you – spread out like so much marmalade on toast for your pleasure.  
  
What the hell is holding me here, frozen, apart from the tremor in my arms? I tear my eyes away from their hypnotised study of his balls and cock. I look him in the eye.  
  
"Nothing changes what we are, Sev."  
  
I have no idea what he means, but, in lieu of anything even remotely resembling resolution, I barge into him – fuelled by the irritation of yet another mangling of my name.  
  
I’m sure he groaned just then, but I was making too much noise myself to hear it. He’s… very tight. It’s all downhill from here.  
  
When I close my eyes the body beneath me is smooth-skinned, pale, slender, and only eighteen. When I come my body screams its ecstasy even as what passes for my heart is busily haemorrhaging.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
I wake to Lupin’s slumbering, sweaty body pinning me to the bed. Our alpha wolf has emerged during sleep it appears.  
  
A certain part of me is still interested. I endeavour to ignore it as I ponder recent developments. It’s like pulling rotting teeth – unpleasant, but much worse if left to fester. I must find some way to work out what has just taken place in this bed.  
  
I had sex with Remus Lupin.  
  
Yes, all well and good, but why? And this is where I come to a sudden, screaming halt. I really have no idea why, for either him or me. Loneliness?  
  
So. Where does that leave things? I tilt my head to observe the wizard in question. My hand is still on his arse, where it no doubt settled during our nap. I can feel my eyebrows drawing together. I am perplexed by the sight; my hand – his arse. I am besotted with the man’s arse.  
  
I am rigid after this thought. I want to fuck him again. I turn my head left, then right… searching.  
  
"Whassit?" His tousled head appears out of my armpit. I’ve jostled him awake.  
  
"The lubricant?"  
  
He blinks slowly at me as my words sink in.  
  
"It’s… ah! Here," he responds, rolling to his side and removing the bottle from wherever it had lodged itself. I shudder to think.  
  
I sit up and take the bottle from his hand. He subsides once more, lying on his stomach beside me with his head cushioned on ropy forearms. He seems unconcerned at the prospect of being rogered by me again. That’s… good, I suppose. I smother myself in the goo and move to kneel between his thighs.  
  
He’s damn warm. And hairy. And loose enough for me to angle in without much effort this time. And this time I can hear him groan. It feels, if possible, even better than before, with my cock no doubt sensitised from our previous exertions. I reach under his chest to cup his shoulders from below, using my grip to brace my thrusts.  
  
"Oh, shit…"  
  
"Alright?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Very alright."  
  
"Lupin."  
  
"Yeah?" Part moan, part word.  
  
"I like your arse."  
  
"You’re only saying that because you’re… ungh… fucking it."  
  
"Oh, no. I do like… ahh… fucking it as well though."  
  
"Oh," he gasps a little breathlessly, and then, "Thanks, Sev."  
  
"Don’t… ahh… oh, I give up." I feel the shudder slide up my spine, locking muscle groups as it goes. Lupin’s arse has clamped around me as I spill into him, as he spills into my bed.  
  
Good timing.  
  
I believe another nap is in order.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
 **6\. “Staring at the Son”**  
  
It’s the morning after. The morning after the night I spent fornicating with the resident Werewolf. He has me pinned to the mattress again. Typical. I blink in the dim light. It’s actually quite warm under here. He may be short, but the body hair compensates somewhat – more surface area to radiate heat.  
  
I suppose I’d better get rid of him before sun up.  
  
“Lupin. Get off me.”  
  
“Whassit?” His head appears from my left armpit this time.  
  
What is it about my armpits that he so likes? Freak. “It will be dawn soon. Go away.”  
  
“Oh. Yes. Right then,” He levers himself up onto his hands and looks down at me. His expression is bland. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Never better, Lupin. Now piss off.” There is the smallest suggestion of a smirk, and then he rolls off me, and the bed, to make his way to the bathroom. Good… grief. I am treated to another view of his naked buttocks in action. Why haven’t I choked the life out of that part of me yet?  
  
I groan inwardly as I rise from the bed, suddenly aware of exactly how long it has been ‘between drinks’. My lower back will need a lot of convincing to support my weight today. I need a potion. I snatch up my bedrobe and proceed to the storage cabinet in the sitting room. Finding the painkiller is a quick process; it’s always close to hand. I toss a mouthful back and frown at the taste. I hear splashing noises from the bathroom – I think Lupin’s using the shower.  
  
I can’t afford to become involved with this man. I can’t allow him to do this again, as I can’t allow myself to indulge in it again. I feel raw and anxious, and a part of me is angry; furious at the both of us for letting it happen.  
  
The sex wasn’t casual enough. I feel that Lupin may have an agenda, and that scares me a great deal. I have nothing to offer him, and I have no wish to be a substitute for…  
  
Oh shite. I sit down in my armchair heavily. He wants to shag Black, doesn’t he?  
  
Lupin appears from the bathroom and glances at me before beginning to pull on his clothes, which are still in a tidy pile on the sitting room floor. I watch him in a daze – worn underwear, faded trousers, time-bleached shirt, and threadbare robes. He must get paid, why does he never replace his clothes? He sits on the settee to pull on his boots. They appear to be his one indulgence – shiny and new, and obviously well made.  
  
“Nice boots,” I say before my conscious mind kicks in to censor me. Damn.  
  
“Aren’t they?” His smile really does change his whole face. He becomes younger, the weight of years and tragedy lift for an unbearable second. “Sirius bought them for me. A birthday present.”  
  
“Do you love him?” That conscious mind of mine is obviously still in bed. I suppose I must have some sneaking interest in his answer, having just buggered the man sideways.  
  
“Of course I do! But you knew that, Sev.” He appears to see the question as irrelevant.  
  
“Will you ever stop calling me that?” I hiss, and then, “Have you told him?”  
  
“Sorry.” He flicks a look at me from under his wet thatch of hair. “And as to Sirius… oh! You think I love him  _that_ way!” He shakes his head in amusement. “No, no, no; that isn’t how it is.” He gives a little shudder. “No, strictly brotherly affection between us. And he’s straight anyway.”  
  
“That wouldn’t stop you feeling… something more, imagining… with someone else.” What the hell am I saying? If I drive a hot poker through my lips I might shut up. I look at the fireplace and the tools nearby.  
  
He has finished dressing and sits regarding me calmly. Poker face. Hah. “I wanted to be with you yesterday, Severus.”  
  
Ah! Now he can say my name properly. I suspect I have been teased. Wait–  
  
“You, you have feelings… for me?”  
  
“Yes. I like you.” Not a flicker of expression on his face. What do I say? Nothing. He knows full well where my affections lie. He let me use him while I was thinking of another.  
  
“It’s alright, you know. I don’t expect anything at all, just, if you enjoy my company…” His words grow quieter then stop. I think we have an embarrassed Werewolf in the room.  
  
“Lupin,” I begin.  
  
“I’d better go.” And then he is up and leaving before I can utter another word. Not that I have any idea what that word may have been. I believe I am surprised. Perhaps shocked. The door shuts after him.  
  
Yes. Right. I’d better get dressed.  
  
Fuck!  
  
*** *** ***  
  
After a hideously hot shower, to trick my lower back into allowing me a normal range of movement, I dress and make my way to the banquet hall… tent. It has rained overnight and the grass squelches pleasingly underfoot when I take a shortcut off the main pathway.  
  
Entering the tent, I proceed to seat myself at the Head Table. I avoid looking at Lupin. I am ravenous. It is a novel sensation. I help myself to a little of everything on offer, fully intending to gorge myself. After some minutes of intense masticating, I pause to intercept the teapot as it slides across the table in front of me. I don’t know who was summoning it – or sending it – but they’ll just have to wait. As I fill my cup I look up to see Lupin regarding me over the rim of his teacup. There is a touch of amusement in his gaze. Idiot.  
  
I bring my tea to my lips and take a mouthful, glancing around at the surrounding mass of humanity as I do so. I nearly aspirate my tea when I notice Potter staring at me. His eyes meet my own gaze without any change in his expression. He simply looks thoughtful. I notice the very moment he becomes aware of my return of his regard – it’s as if he was some place else entirely. His startled twitch is almost comical. He offers me a slight smile, then continues to wolf down his breakfast with all the predictable enthusiasm of a teenaged boy released from a six-month diet of rice.  
  
I have no reason to feel guilty. And yet…  
  
I push my chair back and rise. Breakfast is no longer appealing.  
  
I make my way quickly to my quarters. It has started to rain again and I arrive at my door soaked through. Class begins in forty-five minutes, that’s time enough for a drying spell and a quick sherry. I am halfway through my sherry when there is a knock at the door. Lupin. Has to be. I open the door, ready with a furious frown to throw at him.  
  
“Mr. Potter.” I peer around him to see where Black has got to. One doesn’t see Potter wandering about by himself these days; some tall, dark Death Eater might get him.  
  
“Good morning, Professor. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” His hair is plastered to his scalp and his robes are making puddles at his feet.  
  
“I have another forty minutes until class. What is it?” I am painfully unnerved.  
  
“I was wondering if you had made any progress on a possible cure for my amnesia. If this is a bad time perhaps I could… come back later?”  
  
I gesture him inside. I can’t bear to watch him getting wetter by the second, amusing though it would be to have the Boy Who Lived succumb to a case of double pneumonia after defeating the Dark Lord of the age. It strikes me that no one, not even Potter, actually knows how he did it.  
  
“Oh no, sir! I’ll drip on your floor,” he protests. All this polite conversation is making my teeth ache.  
  
“Drying charm,” I mutter as I grab his collar and yank him over the threshold. He gives a gratifying yelp as he stumbles inside. I peer around outside once more, expecting to see his guard dog lolloping around the corner in pursuit of his charge. Not a soul.  
  
“Where is Black?” Or Weasley, or Granger?  
  
“Sirius sent an owl this morning,” he responds with a smile, “He met up with a friend in Hogsmead last night and stayed overnight.”  
  
“Friendly barmaid, you mean,” I mutter. I watch his eyes flicker in surprise. “So, he’s left you all alone, then? It’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?” He coughs and looks at the floor as he explains.  
  
“I– I’m supposed to be with Ron and Hermione. I gave them the slip, you might say.”  
  
I raise an eyebrow at this confession, but forebear to comment on it. I suppose that I’m unsurprised by this show of the Potter Rebellious Streak. In a way it’s comforting to see it in evidence. I raise my wand and point it at him. His eyebrows head upwards.  
  
“What– what are you doing?”  
  
“This is a drying charm, Mr. Potter. Nothing more.” I find myself reassuring him. I am reminded that this is not the Harry Potter we all know; this i s, essentially, a blank book. No doubt he had a few of his pages filled in the days following his arrival back at Hogwarts, but still… He has no history, no guilt, no grudges and no bloody idea how much danger he could be in right at this moment. He is unbearably vulnerable. A part of me finds this equally unbearably attractive, and twitches inside its confinement. I cast the charm irritably. There is a time and place for such desires. Unfortunately, there will never be a time and a place for my feelings for this young man.  
  
“Wow! That’s amazing, Professor!” He ruffles through his now-dry hair in wonderment. I miss his scar. I need my glass.  
  
“Would you like a sherry, Mr.Potter?”  
  
“Oh, my Aunt and Uncle used to drink that stuff. They never let me have any, though; they hated me.”  
  
“You remember your Aunt and Uncle?” This is interesting. A partial amnesia. I’m guessing all his memories of his pre-Hogwarts life are intact. I pour him a glass as he answers.  
  
“Yes, and my cousin, Dudley. Awful spoiled blimp.”  
  
I hand him his sherry and take another sip of my own. Who cares what time of day it is, the boy needs corrupting. All this innocence is testing my resolve.  
  
“But nothing of the school?” I continue.  
  
“That’s right. And they tell me that I went home during the holidays, but I don’t remember that either.”  
  
“I see.” The damage is limited, and may, in fact, be hysterical rather than physical. Interesting. No effect on his language abilities, and his cultural reference points are still in evidence. Fascinating. I wonder what he’d do on a broom? “Well, I hope one of these potions can help to alleviate the symptoms, Mr. Potter.” I take another sip of sherry.  
  
“Thank you, Professor. Please, do call me Harry. I keep expecting an old gent called Mr. Potter to tap me on the shoulder from behind.” He smiles and takes a mouthful from his glass. I watch, mesmerised, as his throat works around the liquid. I cross my legs.  
  
“Your father would have been about my age, Harry,” And that’s something I need to continually remind myself. “Unless you consider me an ‘old gent’, then the Mr. Potter you might have expected behind you, had he lived, would not have been elderly.” Damn! My sherry is finished. I place the empty glass on the low table next to my chair as he responds.  
  
“Well that’s one memory that I’m not really missing, isn’t it? I never knew my parents. Sometimes I don’t know whether that’s a blessing or a curse.” He looks directly at me. There is no self-pity in his gaze. Just an intensity that defies accurate description. A hunger of sorts.  
  
“Which reminds me, you had best be going now, Harry.” I rise from my chair and glance at the clock over the mantle. “I have class in ten minutes, and no doubt your stand-in parent will be looking for you soon – not to mention a couple of harassed seventh years.” He laughs softly at this.  
  
“I have two trial potions for you, nothing terribly powerful. I would like you to try the first one,” I hand him a small, squat bottle, “over the course of three days. Follow the dosage I have marked. If nothing results from that, take nothing for one day and then commence with the second potion. Again, follow the dosage marked on the bottle.” I hand over the second, taller bottle with what I hope is a stern look. I want to discourage any temptation he might have towards experimenting.  
  
He grapples with the bottles and looks up from his position on the settee. “That’s wonderful, Professor! How can I thank you? I wasn’t expecting all this so soon…” He gulps down the rest of his sherry. Again I watch his throat from the corner of my eye.  
  
I can think of far too many ways he could thank me.  
  
“Well, goodbye for now, Professor.” He rises from the settee and turns toward the door. I have an irresistible urge to be close to him, however briefly. “I’ll get the door for you,” I rush in front of him, opening the door and standing beside the doorjamb. I am pathetic. No news there.  
  
“Goodbye, Harry.”  
  
The unaccustomed mode of address feels strangely familiar, as if I had called him ‘Harry’ forever in a different lifetime. I wonder if that lifetime included taking off his clothes and holding him close to me all night. I watch him until he disappears around the corner. I hope someone uses another drying charm on him soon.  
  
*** *** ***


	4. Part 7

**7\. “Persistence of Memory”**  
  
It is the night of the day that I have given Potter the first two trial potions. I proceeded through the day in a normal fashion; teaching classes of varying levels, correcting homework and suchlike.  
  
Occasionally my back would twinge with my too-sudden movements. I would stare into space at those moments remembering, in far too much detail, thrusting into that warm, abundantly hairy man that had visited in my bed last night. Hard on the heels of those memories came a vision of Potter’s throat as he swallowed my sherry this morning.  
  
My formerly slumbering libido is well and truly awake, and bloody screaming for more activity. I lie on my bed. I imagine Lupin beside me as I rub myself through my clothes. I need the morphine to take this annoying itch away.  
  
I can’t have Lupin come back. I can’t do anything about Potter. He was young before he lost his memory, but not an innocent. He may be older now, but he’s never been this innocent and vulnerable – not in the time that I have been acquainted with him, anyway. It is impossible, this thing I fantasise about.  
  
I could ask Lupin to come back. Damn! I’m stronger than this. I need the morphine. Lupin won’t give me the morphine. He won’t let me buy more. I need Lupin to give me the morphine. I need…  
  
I liberate my raging erection from my trousers and stroke it with efficient fury. The moans come from my throat without volition. I am close now, balanced on a knife’s edge – a delicious eternity of looking into the abyss…  
  
“Severus?”  
  
“Fucking hell!” I have ejaculated over myself before I’ve even realised that he’s not alive. It was possibly the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had by myself, but not in a  _good_  way. And does this qualify as being by myself?  
  
“Albus? What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” I’m sitting up and casting around for something with which to clean myself. My wand will have to do.  
  
“I do apologise, dear boy. I thought you were dreaming!”  
  
I have adjusted my clothing, dragging my respectability back on with a trembling grip. “Yes, quite a dream it was too. A private one, Albus.” His form floats a little lower, until it appears that he is standing on the floor.  
  
“Ah, yes. About that…”  
  
“About what? I declare, Albus, you are twice as impenetrable in death.” I can hear the thin thread of a whine in my voice.  
  
“Your dream, Severus. You have lived it. What you consider to be a mere fancy has been a reality for you. You’ve simply forgotten, dear boy.” He smiles indulgently at me as he starts to fade, becoming more translucent by the second.  
  
“Wait a minute! What the hell do you mean by that? Albus!” Sod it! He’s gone.  
  
I open my eyes with a start. I’m on my bed, trousers open with my hand on my bits. Was I asleep? And am I awake now? Did that really happen? What the devil did he mean?  
  
How I detest ghosts.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
It is five days after my haunting encounter with Albus Dumbledore. He has not reappeared, and I am no closer to divining the meaning of his riddle. Naturally I haven’t confided in anyone about it – there are enough embarrassing revelations about me already grinding their way through the rumour mill. The event has quite put me off wanking, since I can’t be sure he won’t turn up when I am in the middle of another stress relieving session. Which only leaves me one alternative, and it’s not shagging Potter.  
  
Lupin follows me at a discreet distance, showing a reassuring amount of perception in picking up my non-verbal cue as I passed by his chair at the end of supper a few minutes ago. I daresay he could smell the sexual frustration leeching from the pores of my skin.  
  
I am not stronger than this. I am as weak as this.  
  
I enter my quarters. When he steps through the open door a minute later, I seal and silence the place with my wand. He doesn’t even flinch, but starts undressing straight away. As before, his clothes find their way onto my floor in a neat pile. He’s got that damnable smirk on his face again. He’ll regret that. I’ll make sure of it.  
  
I’m in the bedroom, Lupin already splayed face down on the bed whilst I prepare myself. I scoop another handful of lubricant for him and apply it forcefully to his arse. He whimpers delightfully as I enter him.  
  
“This,” I hiss, thrusting brutally, “Is for getting me cleaned up…” I pull back – just the glans of my prick snuggled ecstatically inside his ringed muscle, then I jab inside again.  
  
“Clean and sober, and all too aware of my miserable existence, Lupin!” I force myself in deeper, gasping as my balls compress almost painfully against him.  
  
“Sev,”  
  
“Shut… up!” I draw myself almost out again – thrust back in, hard. “And this is my thanks – I’m using you!” It comes out as a hoarse whisper as I struggle for breath and control. What I intended to be an humiliation (as I have been humiliated) is instead sounding rather like a sad seduction. Time to finish.  
  
“Is this… what you wanted?” I ask, my voice cracking as I plunge in once more – into his exquisite, tight arse. Another uncontrollable thrust spells the end as my vision blurs and I empty myself helplessly inside him.   
  
I huff and pant for long minutes, feeling simultaneously relieved, euphoric, and ashamed. Right down to my toenails. Lupin shudders underneath me and I ease out of him slowly, leaving a slick trail across one of his perfect buttocks. I wipe it off with my fingertips and settle on the bed beside him.  
  
Now I simply feel empty. It’s a welcome sensation; to feel nothing where before there was turmoil and anguish. I watch as he turns slowly onto his back with harsh sigh.  
  
“Well, that was intense, Sev.”   
  
He’s still smirking, the little bastard. Too fucking resilient by half! A sneaking, hidden part of me – I think it’s my conscience – expresses relief. I run my gaze over his sweaty, flushed body. He’s still erect. A few minutes ago I wouldn’t have given a toss, but now I find it reprehensible that I didn’t get him off. I shift to my side and trail my fingers down the centre of his body. Chest, to stomach, to abdomen, to groin. I close my hand around his erection. His breath catches noisily as I play my thumb over the tip. I look up at his face to see his eyes gleaming wildly in the dim light of the room.  
  
“Severus, I want to fuck you.”  
  
Out of the question, of course. I can’t really say why I am smothering the goo over his prick. I have no idea why I lying face down on my bed. And I couldn’t begin to imagine why Lupin is applying open-mouthed kisses down my spine, his progress only checked by the obstacle of my puckered hole.  
  
This isn’t a fuck at all. His fingers flutter over my arse, teasing, tormenting. I hear my whining voice pleading with him. I don’t recognise myself. His mouth moves up to my neck as he lowers himself over me. I can feel his hot erection nestled against my rear. He is no hurry, pulling my hair to the side and licking and sucking at the back of my neck. If he weren’t a heavy weight on top of me I would no doubt be shaking like a leaf. Finally, finally he pushes inside. I let out a heartfelt moan at the intrusion. So full, so hot, so sweet.  
  
He is barely moving, lying flat against my back. His chest hair tickles my shoulder blades, his toes stroke the insides of my ankles. I haven’t worked out if it is pain or pleasure to be tormented so gently. Do I need to decide?  
  
Lupin’s hands stroke down my arms. His hands find mine, his fingers fit between my own. The tender gesture is my unravelling. I bark out an awkward sound, something cracking deep inside.  
  
“Shhhh, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” I wish that I could believe him. I almost do. Another sob, for that is what I am doing, comes creaking out of me, rusty and unrecognisable. Lupin’s fingers tighten and tuck inside my hands. He moves slowly in and out of me. I clench my hands hard around his fingers, certain that I will restrict his blood supply, but helpless to stop the fearful clutching, grasping… my stable object. What is happening?  
  
“Aaaah!” A wail surges up from inside of me. Lupin’s thrusts pick up speed. His fingers slip out of mine, tucking underneath me as he braces himself on his elbows. I’m alright as long as I can still feel his hands. I’m wailing non-stop. The sound shocks me as it has no resemblance to sounds of desire, expressions of satiety. It is a primal sound, and completely involuntary. Lupin’s body suddenly stiffens and I feel a warm flood invade my guts. His body lies limp against me. His panting is surprisingly loud after the sudden cessation of my own cacophony.  
  
It’s over.  
  
“Alright?” I can feel the question’s breath against my ear. If they had the energy the hairs on the back of my neck would stand up. I’m completely wrung out. Remarkably relaxed.  
  
“Yes.” I slur in reply. I feel Lupin gather himself to move off me, “Don’t…” I feel so warm and I know that as soon he moves reality will come crashing down, as sure as the air will be cold against my skin. He relaxes against me. He moves sweat-damp palms down the length of my arms until they meet the backs of my hands. His thumbs stroke along my knuckles, down my fingers… his mouth works along the back of my neck.  
  
I didn’t think I could possibly be more relaxed, but his gentle attentions make me feel melded to the mattress – I couldn’t move if the bloody roof was on fire. It’s impossible to keep my eyes open even the slightest amount. I have the vaguest notion that he is only now slipping out of my arse. I would feel a sense of loss were it not for his reassuring bulk still on top of me.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
There is someone knocking at the door. It awakens me so suddenly that I am on my feet and walking into the doorjamb – nude – before I have any real idea what I’m doing. The impact shakes the last of the sleep from my brain, but it’s not until I have my hand on the doorknob that I remember the little detail about nudity not being entirely acceptable outside of the bedchamber.  
  
“Wait a minute!” I order the unresponsive door. I walk back to find my bedrobe. I hear splashing sounds from the bathroom – Lupin availing himself of my facilities again. When I get back to the door I am tolerably decent, I don’t think even Minerva would blush at the amount of skin on show now – just bony ankles and a triangle of neck. I reach out and open the door.  
  
“Black.” I don’t know who I was expecting, but for some reason I really wasn’t expecting Black. I hadn’t had him pegged as an early riser – something to do with the drinking and womanising I suppose.  
  
“Do you know where Remus is, Snape?” Bless him; he actually looks worried!  
  
“No idea, but he’s a big werewolf, I’m sure he can take care of himself.” I wonder if that’s the sound of my shower, and whether Black has heard it through the bedroom door. I move to shut Black out.  
  
“Wait a minute!” he protests.  
  
I heave a long-suffering sigh. “What?”  
  
“By Merlin, after all he’s done for you, a little concern when he can’t be found wouldn’t go astray!”  
  
“Black,” I begin. A soft voice interrupts me.  
  
“Who can’t be found?” It’s Lupin. Right behind me. And I just know that he’s probably clothed in nothing but one of my wholly inadequate towels. Black’s eyes boggle inhumanly for a beat.  
  
“Moony? Him?” He’s sneering! I’ve half a mind to grab Lupin and stick my tongue down his throat while Black watches, just to see him fall down in a dead faint.  
  
“Yes, Sirius?” There is a touch of coldness in his voice. It’s so unlike him that I find myself turning to see his face, gauge his expression. It is bland as usual, but from my position I can see the tiniest of twitches in the turn of his jawline. Oh. Lupin is angry.  
  
“Uh, I was worried about you, Moony. Didn’t see you after dinner last night, and I went to your quarters… and… But, you’re alright, then.”  
  
“Perfectly fine, thank you.” I watch Lupin’s jaw in fascination – the twitch is gradually fading. Black is perhaps a touch wiser than I had realised. Either that, or he is simply an expert on this particular werewolf – knowing when to back off and live to pester him another day.  
  
“Right. See you at breakfast, then… both… of you, that is. I turn back to see Black pale-faced, and backing down the steps. He can’t get away fast enough.  
  
“Toodle pip, Black!” I call after him. He can’t help but flash a mutely furious look at me. Poor sod. I feel immensely buoyed by the whole encounter. I close the door with a satisfied sigh. When I turn to Lupin he is smiling and frowning at the same time.  
  
“You bloody enjoyed that!”  
  
“Sirius Black lost for words, what’s not to enjoy?” I ask innocently. He snorts and turns to his humble pile of clothes.  
  
“I’m going to buy you some new underpants, Lupin.” I pronounce, a second before my mouth dries as he drops the towel from his hips.  
  
“That’s nice of you, Sev.”  
  
I reach for the sash of my robe. “It’s still quite early, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes. Time enough for a leisurely cup of tea.” His hand reaches down to grasp his half-hard length. Bloody tease. I drop my robe on my armchair and stalk over to him. A surprised chuckle escapes him as he stumbles backwards, belatedly trying to evade me. Too late. I have him up against my desk now and make full use of the heavy piece of antique oak. Paperwork be damned.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Lupin is ignoring me as we eat breakfast. I think I have managed to wipe that damnable smirk off his face for the day. A good morning all in all.  
  
There is a commotion at the Gryffindor table, where Harry Potter has been Guest-in-residence since his recent return from the dead.  
  
“DOBBY!” his frantic shout echoes off the walls. It was a house-elf’s name if ever I heard one, in fact; Malfoy’s little turncoat, if I know my Life and Times of the Boy Who Lived. Everyone else falls silent. Except for Miss Granger’s strangely collected, “Harry, it’s alright. Sit down.”  
  
The boy himself is frozen in a half-crouch over the table in front of him. Minerva sends a worried frown in my direction – it was no secret that he had been using my memory enhancing potions. Well, now; seems the second potion has promise.  
  
“Where is he? Where’s Dobby?” Potter’s harsh whisper is perfectly audible as we are all holding our breath, waiting to see what he will do. I watch Granger as she rises slowly, her red-headed shadow following her lead.  
  
“We don’t really know, Harry. Do you know?” Oh, clever girl. I wish I could have claimed credit for her, but we couldn’t have had her in Slytherin being the loud and proud Mudblood that she is now, could we?  
  
“He, he… died, didn’t he? They all died…” Potter’s voice sounds as if he is on the verge of tears. I can’t stand this. I rise from my seat. Lupin looks up to watch my progress, I have the feeling he will not be far behind me as I walk to Gryffindor table. Granger is now standing next to Potter, who has turned away from the table and is staring unseeing at the mass of students in front of him. The room is filling with a soft murmuring as I catch Weasley’s eye. The boy edges around to me.  
  
“Go and fetch Sirius Black as quickly as you can. He’ll be on the west façade today. Bring him to the Staffroom.”  
  
“Yes, Professor.” He slips out of the tent in a red-topped blur. I turn back to Potter and Granger. I feel a hand on my shoulder and know that Lupin is there. Thank Merlin. “We have to get him to the Staffroom, he needs some privacy.” And there’s no way I will be able to persuade him to come with me now. If he remembers our history as student and teacher he will remember how much he despises me. Lupin has surmised all this, I suppose, as he is the one to move forward and take Potter’s arm in a gentle hold. After a startled glance, and a murmured, “Yes, you’re still here,” Potter allows himself to be led by Lupin. I move to the door, ready to follow them. As he passes me, Potter looks up.  
  
“Severus, I’m so sorry.” A tear escapes his eye and trails down his face.  
  
*** *** ***


	5. Part 8

**8\. “Remembering To Breathe”**  
  
I follow the trio, at a distance of five paces, towards the Staffroom. Granger has a hold of Potter from the other side – he looks like a prisoner, held securely between them like that. Lupin flicks a glance my way as they approach the doorway to the Staff Facilities block. It’s beginning to look like a Muggle school… how terribly pedestrian.  
  
When I can put it off no longer, I consider the fact that Potter has just called me by my first name. There is something so very frightening about that. What does he know that I don’t? Have I lost my memory as well? Of course, the simple explanation is usually the most likely one. He was overwrought, emotional, connecting with his recent past after several months absence, both from his home and himself. The rest of us have had time to move on, or, more accurately in my case, stumble, stagger and crawl on. Yes, it isn’t likely to have any great significance at all.  
  
The sinking sensation in my gut is not responding to this rational explanation.  
  
We have just entered the Staffroom when a large, panting black dog skids over the threshold. It is by a distance of mere inches that it misses overturning a delicate wine rack. Bloody Black.  
  
“Sirius!” Potter cries out and reaches for the beast. He transforms and I am transfixed by the sight of them embracing. A guilty pleasure indeed – and perverse, considering how much I dislike Black. For some reason, I look at Lupin who, by his bland expression, has been studying me for some moments. What is he thinking?  
  
Black guides his shell-shocked godson to a chair. Minerva has arrived, along with Poppy Pomfrey. They sit close by, not speaking as Potter looks around the room. His smile is unsure.  
  
“I remember everything. I thought I was going to die.”  
  
“You killed Voldemort, Harry.” Lupin states softly. I shiver slightly. I must light the fire. I walk over to the fireplace as Potter continues,  
  
“Yes, but the power… there was a backlash. Dobby and the other house-elves were trying to disperse it – it was too strong. He, he must have Apparated me, but, I remember the explosion!” Black stands behind his chair and places his hands on Potter’s shoulders as if to steady him.  
  
“Professor Dumbledore – he’s dead too, isn’t he?” There is a whispered confirmation from Granger where she sits to Potter’s left. I keep my position by the fireplace that I might turn away from the drama should I need to. Black rubs his hands back and forth over Potter’s hunched, unyielding shoulders.  
  
“They all died protecting me.” He mutters. Oh, this is ridiculous.  
  
“Please, Potter, let’s not have a pity party about it,” I ignore Black’s furious look and Minerva’s scandalised gasp, “The lot of you, house-elves, Dumbledore, Filch, and your humble self of course, provided the rest of us with precious time to get our precious students out of harm’s way. You were just unlucky enough to survive the experience. Get over it.”  
  
There is a silent pause. I wonder vaguely whether I might have overstepped the mark – wouldn’t be the first time. Potter is staring at me with wide eyes. He lets out a startled laugh. Just when I think he has finished he starts again, bending at the waist to gasp into his knees. He’s hysterical. Someone should slap him. Just as I’m wondering if I might be the man for the job (as long as I can kiss it better, oh shut-up!), he takes a few deep breaths and smiles at me. Smiles. At me.  
  
“That’s what I love about you, Severus. You never let me get too full of myself, do you?” It is a second after making this bizarre statement that his eyes cloud over. “Oh, God. I forgot.”  
  
“What?” I can’t stop the question. It shoots out of my mouth like a barbed arrow. I want, need, to get to the bottom of this now. Albus’ ghost is haunting me all over again.  
  
“I…” Potter glances around at the room. It’s obvious he’s not comfortable divulging his secrets in front of them all. Black’s aiming a downright filthy stare at me, as if Potter’s discomfort is all my fault. Hardly. I haven’t got a clue what this is all about.  
  
“I need to speak to you, sir.” Oh, I’m ‘sir’ again, then? He continues, “Privately, if you wouldn’t mind?”  
  
“Come to me after class today, if you must.” I’m no longer able to stand still, so I leave the room to get ready for class.  
  
I have almost reached my quarters when Lupin catches up to me. “Severus!” I whirl on him, furious, but not knowing why. Perhaps fury is better than terror?  
  
“What the hell do you want, Lupin?”  
  
He stops dead in front of me. “Inside?” he asks quietly. I shrug and open my door. When it closes behind us Lupin tries to embrace me. I throw his hands off. He tries again and I pin him against the wall with his wrists above his head. “Will you leave me alone?” I shout. I think I may have spat on him.  
  
He shakes his head slightly, “No.” We both know that he can break free of my grip at any time, but he stays where I have him pressed to the wall.  
  
“Stupid fucking Werewolf!” I shriek at him.  
  
“Mm-hm.” He nods in agreement. That fucking smirk is back on his mouth. My hands are full and I can’t hit him. Only one thing to do… I kiss him angrily. It’s not working because he’s moaning in pleasure and I’m getting hard. I think we’d actually enjoy the occasional bout of rough sex if we were to continue with this idiocy. I have to come up for air.  
  
“Time for class, Lupin.” I say as I pull back. I don’t really want to let his wrists go. I look at them with longing before I gently release them. He licks his lips with a small grimace. His bottom lip has a spot of blood on it where I mauled him. Serves him right for smirking.  
  
“I’ll be by later to finish this, Sev.” He straightens his shabby clothes.  
  
“Piss off, Lupin.” I open the door and usher him out.  
  
And now, I must teach.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Four o’clock could not come quick enough for me today. For once the Hufflepuff third years and myself were of the same mind – they shot out of the classroom in insulting haste with my blessings.  
  
I am dumping the less harmful variations on wart remover potion into the waste sink when the hairs on the back of my neck inform that I am being watched. I look up to see Potter standing at the doorway of the classroom. He clears his throat and greets me,  
  
“Hello, Professor.”  
  
I’d like to know exactly what I am to him. It seems to be a strain for him to say Professor. “You weren’t so formal in your address this morning, Mr. Potter.” I remark as I stack the rinsed cauldrons tidily. He moves past the threshold and closes the door before perching on a stool near my desk.  
  
“And you had called me Harry previously if I remember correctly.”  
  
Brat. “It was at your insistence,” I move to sit behind my desk, “I have no memory of anything like the informality of you calling your Professor by his given name.” This makes him frown and his stare drops away from me. “What are you here to tell me, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“We…” He lets out a frustrated breath. Or maybe it’s resignation? “We had been close before Voldemort attacked the school. We had an understanding.”  
  
I try to not react. I need to concentrate and ignore the beat of my pulse in my ears. “I remember nothing of the sort. Exactly what was the nature of this…  _understanding?_ ”  
  
“We were sleeping together, Professor.” He tilts his chin up as he drops this bombshell, as if daring me to rain hellfire and damnation on him for even thinking it. And yet, somehow I am not all that surprised, and I don’t know why that should be.  
  
“Why ever would I sleep with a student, let alone one that I detest as much as you?” I say in order to keep up appearances if nothing else. He laughs gently and wipes at his forehead.  
  
“You never hated me, Professor.” He shakes his head slowly, “You came to love me after… after we’d been together for a time.”  
  
I can feel my reality slipping away, like water through my fingers. “It’s unethical to sleep with a student.” But I know that I am fighting a losing battle. If he had come to me freely, if he had wanted me and I was convinced of it – would I have turned him away? Would I have had a thought to my career?  
  
“Well, you did take some wearing down, I’ll admit.”  
  
I bow my head into my hands, closing my eyes against this unbearable truth. “Why?” is all I can think to ask him.  
  
“I wanted you, Severus. I wanted to be with you.” He whispers in answer.  
  
“I remember nothing of it.” Explain that, you wretched boy!  
  
“I performed a memory charm on you.” His voice is toneless.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I did an Obliviate. I was trying to spare you pain.” He drags a nervous hand back through his hair. It is so very unkempt that it hardly makes a difference.  
  
“Whatever would possess you to cast a memory charm on me while thinking you were doing me a favour?” I am shouting now. I may have spat on him. He holds up a hand in a placating gesture,  
  
“I was certain that I would die. Dumbledore and me were the only defence the school had. The attack surprised everyone and there was no way we would have had additional forces in time to stop Voldemort.” It all comes out in a well-rehearsed rush, as if he has been examining his reasons well ahead of this meeting. “I knew that you would be grieving for me and I wanted to spare you that pain any way I could.”  
  
“You fucking idiot!” Hardly a term of endearment. I can barely see for the rage, the frustration – “I loved you before anything happened! I loved you when it was indecent, you egotistical fool! I love you even now!” I’m breathless.  
  
“Severus,” he begins in protest. I cut him off with a terse,  
  
“Leave me. Now!”  
  
“But,” he cries, taking a step.  
  
“Get the fuck away from me.” And that has persuaded him. He takes his guilty, stricken self out of my classroom.  
  
I wonder if there is any sherry left in my quarters. I’d rather have my hypodermic.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Lacking sherry or hypodermic, I intend to make do with Lupin. He has arrived at my door as promised and disrobes in my sitting room. He stands in front of me for a moment. I watch him avidly as his dimensions enlarge.  
  
“Lupin,” I have to tell him. Merlin knows why when he already knows so damned much about me. Ah, but then I do know his nasty little secret too…  
  
“I know, Severus.” He levels his all-seeing gaze at me.  
  
“How?”  
  
“It wasn’t hard to guess.” No I suppose not. And if he has guessed then so shall others. Well then, another rumour for the mill. If I still have a reputation at the end of this it will no doubt be an extremely tawdry one.  
  
“And you don’t seem to mind.” I observe, with a significant look between his legs. He flashes that smile at me in response.  
  
“At this moment, no. We may have to talk if you intend to continue with Harry where you left off.”  
  
“I don’t remember any of it. The damned fool cast a memory charm on me before leaving me for certain death in battle.” I can’t believe the sheer melodrama of it all; my life as a ‘B’ grade Muggle movie!  
  
Lupin sputters out a laugh. The gall of the man!  
  
“It’s very romantic of him,” he offers, eyes twinkling with amusement. Then more soberly, “He’s very young, Severus, don’t be too hard on him.”  
  
And that makes me wonder… he’d said that we’d slept together, but I wonder how far it went? Being so young, wouldn’t I have kept him away from intercourse? At least until he’d been around enough to be certain of his orientation.  
  
“I doubt that I would have fucked him properly, Lupin.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to soothe his sensibilities or my own. In any case, I am now distracted by the man standing in front of me as he masturbates slowly. It’s really very pleasurable to watch. I am torn between the impulse to grab him and slam him up against the wall as I did this morning, or just keeping my eyes glued to the unfolding performance. I am spoilt for choice, and happy enough in my internal conflict.  
  
Soon enough I can smell his sweat and observe it as his skin takes on a shine across his chest and shoulders. His neck and face are turning ruddy with his arousal and his breath is coming in rapid bursts.  
  
Every time I look up at his face his eyes are on me.  
  
I sit in my chair, fully clothed and resisting the urge to strip off and join him. I squirm slightly as my own erection pushes against the constraining cloth. I grip the arms of the chair with white-tipped fingers, determined not to move. A thin river of sweat tickles down between my shoulder blades.  
  
“Sev’rus,” he pants breathlessly, “please…” I know what he wants, but I’ll make him beg some more.  
  
“Please what, Lupin?” I struggle to keep my voice disinterested, though I know I’m not fooling him – it’s all a part of the performance, isn’t it?  
  
“I need… please!”  
  
“What do you need, Lupin?” Damn, I’m getting good at this! He wheezes breathlessly. His face is a grimace, brows drawn together painfully,  
  
“Please… your mouth!”  
  
That’s all I can take, and about all he can take as well. I drop to my knees on the rug in front of him. His eyes glitter as he whines in a sound of pure need. Delicious! And so is his cock. He thrusts once, twice, and on the third he grips my shoulders and yells while he comes, muscles taut, tendons drawn tight and sweat dripping. I swallow it all wishing I had some sherry to cover the aftertaste. The things I do for Lupin.  
  
I fully expect to collect a reward for this. It’s really not such an awful taste.  
  
*** *** ***


	6. Part 9

**9\. “Thy Nature’s Weakness”**  
  
Soft touches.  
  
Moist lips.  
  
Very nice, very relaxing… and… arousing. I jerk from sleep, gasping “Harry” in surprise as my hips move involuntarily.  
  
“Yes, it’s me,” his voice comes from pitch darkness. At some point it may seem important that I knew it was Potter before I was fully conscious. Right now I am far too angry to care.  
  
I lurch upwards grabbing at where I know his hair will be, “What in the seven circles are you doing?” He twists out of my grip and I hear a rustling of clothing.  
  
“Lumos.” He intones, and the room is suffused with light from his wand. He looks miserable, and delectably dishevelled. I stare at him feeling an unaccustomed loss of vocabulary.  
  
“How did you get in?” I finally bark. As far as I was aware Lupin was the only person who knew the spellword to my quarters.  
  
“You’re using the same spellword.” He answers in a tone that shows he thinks this is a ridiculous question, “I took it as a sign that I would be welcome.” He adds disingenuously. As if I’d fall for that!  
  
“If I have no bloody memory of giving you the spellword, how the hell would I know that you could get in?” He must have vestiges of conscience, or simply be embarrassed at being caught out, because he drops his gaze and shrugs.  
  
“This is all beside the point anyway, Potter,” I continue, “You must leave right this second. I don’t want you in here.” I desperately will my erection to go down. It’s very hard, in more ways than one. I have a ready, willing and able young man sitting on my bed who would strip and join me under the covers at the slightest sign of interest from me. The added difficulty of being quite firmly attracted to the young man in question means that I am required to exert a superhuman level of restraint in order to turn him aside. Life, as well I know, is simply  _not_  fair.  
  
“I wanted to spend some time with you, Severus. I wanted a chance to apologise properly for what I did,” he insists.  
  
“Alright, apology accepted. Now bugger off!” I’m getting desperate. I am having visions of his smooth, pale skin sliding under my hands.  
  
Severus,” he whispers sorrowfully. It’s inconceivable that he should care for someone like me. It’s inconceivable that my rejection should hurt him so…  
  
“Come back at a decent time.” I concede. Then, in a fit of true masochism, “And tell Black everything you’ve told me. I don’t want any more of these blasted secrets!” His face looks tight, but he nods and backs off the bed. I watch him retreat, along with his lit wand, through to the sitting room.  
  
“And lock the bloody door!” I call after him. The light fades as he steps out into the night.  
  
“G’night, Severus.” Comes his soft farewell. And then the door closes. I feel… relieved, confused, and bitter – in equal amounts.  
  
He never calls me ‘Sev’.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
The rest of my night was spent in a restless tangle of bedclothes and regret. My mind relentlessly provided imaginary images to fill in the blanks left by the ever-well-meaning Harry Potter. I fought against visions of him in every conceivable position. My over-heated imagination explored every sex act it could dredge up from my less than savoury past, substituting Potter for all the faceless partners from times gone by. I must have woken myself from light dozing about four times to find I was fully erect and humping the spare pillow, or the mattress, or my own hand.  
  
I cursed myself for a fool for turning the boy away. Knowing that I’d done the right thing provided no solace in the dark hours before dawn.  
  
Even now I must own to conflicting and ambivalent feelings on the matter of bedding Potter – past and present. Though I feel deep down that he has told me the truth, there is a part of me that wants to deny it ever happened, that wants to divorce myself from the fact that I allowed myself to enjoy carnal acts with a student from one of my own classes. No matter how much I may have felt for him, taking advantage of a teenaged, hormone-driven infatuation demonstrates very poor moral judgement on my part. Potter must have employed some very sophisticated arguments to win his case.  
  
Oh, who am I trying to fool? All he had to do was raise the issue of his imminent demise at the hands of Lord-Bloody-Voldemort and I would have surrendered the field.  _That_  has been my true Achilles heel all along.  
  
And since when has Harry Potter been homosexual, anyway? That particular question was swamped in the first shock of his cataclysmic revelations on our relationship. I had no idea he may be inclined towards the male of the species, though I suppose I never saw him dally with any females either – aside from a short-lived yearning for the Chang girl in his fourth year.  
  
He would have wanted to keep it quiet. It would be natural not to want it splurted all over the front page of The Daily Prophet… one of the drawbacks of celebrity status. And given my own Out Of The Closet Raging Nancy reputation of late, it’s in his best interests to stay well clear of me. He deserves, at the very least, an unblemished start to his post-Voldemort life, and I now have (and probably always had) the sad ability to instantly tarnish an otherwise spotlessly heroic reputation.  
  
It is this depressing, but inevitable, conclusion that keeps me to my rooms this morning. It is Saturday and I am tired and listless. I find the idea of breakfast completely unappealing and instead sip at cup after cup of strong tea. Come mid-morning I am unsurprised by Black’s bellowing voice outside my door.  
  
“Snape! Are you in there? Open up!”  
  
I’d been expecting him for some time now. Time to face judge, jury and executioner. I don’t feel much like defending myself. I rise and walk to the door. I open it just as he has his fist raised to begin thumping.  
  
“Take a deep breath and count to ten, Black,” I drawl. I can’t help it; I do so love to wind him up. “I find it always helps.” I’m going to regret it, obviously.  
  
“You fucking  _bastard_.” He lurches inside and, though I should have expected it, the fist that ploughs into my nose comes as a surprise.  
  
I am not really thinking anything. I am blinking at the ceiling, noticing it for the first time really… quite wonderful carpentry. I wish I could breathe through the blood filling my throat. I find myself dragged upwards by my collar, unable to do anything much but spit blood and try to get some breath back into my lungs.  
  
“You pathetic piece of shit! You couldn’t even wait for him to leave school, could you?” He knees me in the groin and I crumple to the floor when he lets go of my collar. I hear my own personal mantra in my head as I lay gasping in a ball, protecting my genitals from further punishment. ‘I deserve it. I deserve it.’  
  
“Sirius!” Oh, come one, come all! Join in the fray, let’s have a party! I am aware of Lupin kneeling over me, although I still can’t see properly.  
  
“What the hell have you done?”  
  
“He was fucking Harry a year ago! He wasn’t even eighteen!” Shout it a bit louder, Black. I’m sure they didn’t hear you on the other side of the Quidditch pitch.  
  
“You stupid bastard! What have you done to him?”  
  
“Moony,” There is a distinct whine in his voice. My hearing is probably the only clear sense I have working right now. “He’s a fucking paedophile!”  
  
I feel Lupin’s absence as a loss of warmth against my back. There is a whump of sound, accompanied by a splintering crack, and the floor that I lie on shakes. Lupin’s voice is quiet. “He is  _not_  a paedophile. Go back and ask Harry how long it took him to seduce Severus Snape, you fool.” I can hear scuffling on the floor and the sound of my door being slammed.  
  
As Lupin lifts me carefully off the floor I vaguely wonder how many times he has carried me these past several weeks – literally and figuratively. He leaves me on the bed, returning with a bowl and a cloth a minute later. I am unable to straighten my legs against the sickening ache between them. I allow myself a moan, not that I could stop it anyway, and curl onto my side again.  
  
Lupin dabs delicately at my face with a cloth dipped in water from the bowl. He rinses and dabs again, hissing between his teeth all the while. He is such a convincing mother hen that I would laugh at him if I could draw a proper breath.  
  
“You didn’t even try to stop him, did you?” he asks shortly. Ah, Lupin – you know me far too well.  
  
Bloody hell. There is something huge and obvious that I’m missing here, isn’t there? In a combination of fatigue, pain, sheer emotional overload, and a lack of willingness to face reality, I decide to pass out.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
When I regain consciousness, it is to the alarming sensation of someone undoing my trousers.  
  
“What the devil…!”  
  
“Oh, hush, Severus. I need to inspect the damage.” Poppy Pomfrey’s bedside mannered voice answers me as I bat at her hands.  
  
“You most certainly do NOT!” I shout back, and immediately give myself a migraine. I curl back onto my side, thereby thwarting the awful woman’s efforts to get at my family jewels. It bloody hurts.  
  
“Sev,” His amused tone is quite offensive. “Let Poppy have a look. Please?”  
  
“No.” Better hope he doesn’t use the other tone – the one I always end up mindlessly obeying. Lupin gives a resigned sigh,  
  
“Alright. Poppy, tell me what to look for and wait just outside the door.” He must be kidding! He’s going to describe my giblets to her through the door?  
  
“Very well… if he’s not going to be reasonable about it.” She sounds quite huffy, really rather miffed. Hah.  
  
“We are talking about the same unreasonable, stubborn, unpleasant, greasy, unpersonable git, aren’t we?” Bastard. I think I’ll kill him.  
  
“You’re right, of course. I’ll leave the door open.” I can hear her swift swish of skirts as she exits my bedroom. Good riddance.  
  
“Turn over, Severus.” Lupin commands. Commands!  
  
“Say please,” I hiss at him.  
  
“Oh for sh…. Please.”  
  
I roll onto my back and he gives me the most ineffectual sneer I’ve ever seen in my life. He even has the corners of his mouth pulled tight to stop the incipient smile in its tracks. Fraud. He recommences undoing my trousers. I hiss in alarm when his fingers brush against my pelvic bone.  
  
“Have a care, you animal!” I glare up at him. He smiles slightly. I have nothing to say to that, so I glare some more. He tugs gently at my trousers until they are down to mid-thigh, then, after glancing at me, he slowly slides my underwear down. If I weren’t sweating with each painful movement, I would be quite turned on. I pant through the throbbing.  
  
“Alright?”  
  
“No, I’m not fucking alright, you imbecile!” I hear clucking noises through the doorway.  
  
“Such language. The man is really the most difficult patient I’ve ever had to deal with!”  
  
Lupin is unable to suppress his stupid grin. I close my eyes so I don’t have to deal with the sight of him. I nearly jump through the ceiling when I feel his feather-light touch against my groin. I open my eyes to glare at him again, but he has an intense look of concentration on his face as he scrutinises my privates.  
  
“See anything you like, Lupin?” His eyes flick across to meet my stare. His long red tongue sweeps over his pink lips. They are really too sweet looking for a man his age. Oh, shite! I’m getting an erection – it’s agonising. I can’t help the moan.  
  
“Sorry,” he whispers. Louder, he asks Poppy, “What does a ruptured testicle look like, anyway?”  
  
What?  
  
“You’ll have to palpate his scrotum. Carefully.”  
  
He looks at me, frowning, “I think she means I have to feel you up, Sev.”  
  
“CAREFULLY.” I feel this can’t be emphasised enough. He gives me a nod and his fingers move to gently heft my sac. They are very sore. I pant through the process of his rolling each testicle to check its shape.  
  
“They feel normal to me, Poppy.” He announces at the end of it. I feel like I might vomit.  
  
“That’s good. Put on a cooling charm to numb the area, and ask Severus to take some of the healing potion.”  
  
“I can hear, you know.” I mutter through clenched teeth. Lupin simply waves his wand over my groin, giving blessed relief. I can’t help a moan of pleasure at the result. Lupin stares at me for a long minute, then pulls both my underwear and my trousers off completely before pulling up a bed sheet to preserve my modesty.  
  
“He’s decent now, Poppy.” He calls through the doorway. Everyone’s favourite Medi-witch bustles back in.  
  
“Bed rest, Severus. See that you do, or I’ll have you in the Infirmary for a week!” What did I do? Antagonistic wench. She leans over, and to my horror, runs a finger down my nose. My nose! I’d forgotten about that. But there is no pain emanating from it.  
  
“Quite a nice closure. It has retained every inch of its imposing size, Severus.” She smirks. Funny woman. Please die. Now.  
  
Lupin sees her off the premises and I try to stop the cold sweat covering my skin. I shiver and wish he’d come back and pull the duvet over me. I hate being beaten up.  
  
“Here, you look cold.” He’s back in the room. I must have dozed for a second. I sigh in relief when he places the duvet over me. I forget myself and murmur, “Thank you.”  
  
He strokes my forehead once, fleetingly – not enough – and then brings a goblet of potion to my lips. He lifts my shoulders and I sip at the goblet. He seems satisfied, because he allows me to lean back onto the pillows and places the goblet back on the bedside table. I shiver again. I can feel his hand back at my forehead, stroking.  
  
“Still cold?” he asks softly. I grunt an affirmative.  
  
“Roll over.” He must have a reason. I roll onto my side, facing away from him. I feel the bedclothes moving behind me and then his warm form is pressed up against my back. That’s better. I can feel the chill slowly dissipate under the onslaught of his warmth. His warmth… warmth.  
  
His…  
  
*** *** ***


	7. Part 10

**10\. “Belief System”**  
  
“Wake up, Sunshine.”  
  
I think I’ll kill him. After I’ve drunk the freshly brewed coffee he’s holding under my nose.  
  
“Don’t ‘sunshine’ me, you irritating twit!” I sit up to take the proffered mug from his hand.  
  
“Feeling better then?”  
  
As the hot liquid slides down my throat I decide that it’s worth his obnoxiously cheerful prattling. I grunt a non-committal response to his question and take another blessed mouthful of coffee. My brain is waking by slow degrees. “What time is it?”  
  
“Lunchtime. Are you hungry?”  
  
I almost say no, but, surprisingly, I am rather… although the idea of walking is enough to bring tears to my eyes. The cooling charm has worn off and I feel pain will be an inevitable consequence.  
  
“I can bring a tray for you.”  
  
The mother hen thing is getting a tad repetitive. “Why are you being so bloody nice?” I ask with my usual suspicion. So good to be back in character.  
  
“You’re injured!”  
  
That’s not enough. I fix him in place with my glare… then I up the ante with narrowed eyes. He sighs before elaborating, “I believe you’re depressed about Harry. I believe you’ve decided not to become involved with him again,” I’m tempted to interrupt and protest that I never was involved with him, but it’s all in one’s perspective, isn’t it? “And now that you’ve made the decision you don’t see any happiness ahead for yourself,” he adds. Utter bastard.  
  
“So, this is all… pity?” I gesture vaguely at the room, the situation, and him. He gives me a twisted smile.  
  
“You know what this is, Severus,” his tongue lingers on the ‘s’. The sound has a strange effect on me. The hairs stand up all over my body. I don’t want  _anyone_  to have that kind of power over me. I can feel my temper, finally, about to explode…  
  
“Get…” I am foiled in my attempt to throw him out of my quarters by his mouth latching onto mine. I struggle to throw him off, dropping the cup to clutch at his shoulders. I grab twin handfuls of his robes… his old, tatty robes… faded but serviceable, like Lupin. I find myself pulling him down instead of away, pulling him down as I recline on the bed, pulling him down to cover me as I part my legs ready to enclose him within. He makes a surprised sound in his throat – it never escapes his mouth as I have him silenced with my tongue and lips. Thankfully, he doesn’t wait to vocalise his question. He scrambles up and over me, hesitating only slightly before lying on top of me. I give a brief hiss as he presses against my crotch, but where I had anticipated pain there is only the sweet ache of arousal. I give silent thanks to the superior quality of the healing potions with which I have stocked Poppy’s clinic, and delve under his robes to find the outline of that magnificent arse. I grope and squeeze and stroke and… basically damn well worship it. We part lips to drag in lungfuls of air,  
  
“We can’t…” he begins. I cut him off with a ragged, “Why the bloody hell not?”  
  
“Your equipment might fail the safety test.” He grins down at me inanely. Bogging hell. There’s no way that I will persuade him, bloody mother hen! “Fine,” I clip out, “Lie down. On your back.”  
  
Lupin clambers over me to lie down, with robes askew and face flushed to a ruddy, gleaming hue. His lips part as he meets my gaze. I can’t say what prompts me to do it, but I balance on an elbow and lean over him slowly to start licking his lips. I avoid being drawn into his mouth, ducking down to suck at his neck, then the point of his jaw where the muscles jump so delightfully when he is angry and which is already bristling with a slight beard. I move up to press my lips against his closed eyes. He is whimpering… and again I feel the hairs rise on my skin, but this time I feel powerful, I’m in control as I haven’t been for a long time. Conscious, awake and very deliberate. I move my free hand to find his trousers opening, and pull the buttons apart. The act brings my knuckles against his stiff penis and he groans loudly.  
  
“Sev,” he slurs, his eyes glistening.  
  
“Are you… crying?” I don’t understand. I know that he’s aroused, I hold the evidence in my hand after all. He shakes his head in negation, but his breath hitches on a sob… making a liar out of him. I start to stroke his length slowly as I move my face down and kiss him on his open mouth, delving into his wet warmth in a distinctly phallic manner. He grasps my head between shaking, desperate hands. What is wrong? Should I stop? He sucks on my tongue hard enough to hurt, drawing it ever deeper into his mouth. My face is so closely pressed against his that I can no longer breathe.  
  
“Don’t stop…” he exclaims hoarsely when we part for air. I am reassured that he wants this and so keep up with my slow, steady stroking on his rigid cock. He is moaning now, and thrusting his hips up and down in time with my stroking. My own prick is stiff and leaking and I press it instinctively against his still-clothed hip, only drawing back when the pressure becomes uncomfortable for my over-sensitive groin. All the time I keep stroking him… no effort for me – stirring potions for over twenty years does nothing if not leave one with a great deal of wrist strength. I increase the pace.  
  
I can smell his sweat, his sex, his very blood boiling.  
  
“Oh no, oh no, ohno, oh…. OH!”  
  
I watch his fluid spurt, fascinated with the stringy, creamy patterns it makes. I glance back and forth between his gaping, gasping mouth and corded neck, and his pulsing, hot cock. His vulnerability delights me in a way that nothing else has. Nothing that I remember, anyway.  
  
I watch, entranced, as he gathers oxygen in deep, shaking breaths – punctuated by soft, intermittent whimpers. He slowly raises his hand to touch me, stroking down the side of my face with his fingertips. I suddenly realise that my arse is quite cold. I’m wearing only a shirt, and the covers have been tangled around my legs for quite some time.  
  
“Cover me, Lupin.” I command, and roll onto my back, confident that he can return some warmth to me. He loses no time in complying, moving on top of me (I spare a thought for the sticky state in which we both now find ourselves, then decide not to care), and angling so as not to put too much pressure on my groin. He braces his elbows on either side of my head, and once more I find myself tonsil-deep in Lupin’s mouth.  
  
It’s a little different this time. I can’t put my finger on it. What has changed?  
  
Someone is moaning in a shamefully erotic manner. It can’t possibly be me. When he moves down to take the very tip of my prick into his mouth, I blow several million brain cells along with a large amount of spunk. Sweet Merlin.  
  
I finally manage to croak, “Come here, Remus,” with what is left of my vocal cords. Did we put a silencing charm on the room? I hold him to me, against my quivering body. I wind my dead-weight legs around his, lay his head against my chest, and – for good measure – dig my fingers into his hair.  
  
He’s not going anywhere. If there is leaving to be done, I will be the one to do it.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
It is after midnight when I venture forth from my quarters, having been sequestered there with Lupin until an hour before moonrise. I walk slowly through the quiet grounds, using shortcuts across the grass so that my footsteps will not be heard.  
  
I walk aimlessly, struggling with the conundrum that is Lupin. Or rather, the conundrum that is Lupin and myself. I know that I must do something to resolve the situation. I can’t go on shagging and snogging someone, or some _thing_ , that I’ve had such a long-cherished disregard for. An incredible arse does not an intimate partner make! Actually, he has a delicious cock as well, but that is irrelevant. I must be practical about this, and Lupin is not someone I can sustain a relationship with even if I wanted to. There is too much history for a start, too many bad memories of our years together at school: I will never forget that night he tried to attack me whilst in werewolf form. The very same werewolf form that he inhabits tonight.  
  
The moon is full and bright, and by its light I can discern a figure sitting on the dewy grass by the shore of the lake. Another insomniac. I stop to stare at the distant figure, wondering who it might be. The posture strikes me as masculine for no particular reason, other than half a lifetime’s experience at reading body language.  
  
I clench my teeth at the sudden realisation that it has to be Potter. I find myself striding quickly but silently down the hill towards him. My mind is filled with an urgent sense of… something. Purpose? I don’t take the time to analyse, probably a mistake, as I draw closer to him. He is sitting with his feet tucked up on each knee, and I can hear soft chanting. Oh, how quaint – our Little Budda at play. I slow down as I come up behind him.  
  
“Hello, Severus.” How the hell…? I reflect briefly on the effectiveness of Lupin’s cleansing charm, and whether I may still reek of him. Or sex. Or both. Maybe I just reek.  
  
“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” I greet him. He makes a snuffling sound and looks up at me.  
  
“Is there any way on Earth for you to stick to calling me Harry?”  
  
I shrug down at him, watching as he disentangles his long legs. He has no shoes on. For some insane reason, that only my sex drive can explain, this makes me hard.  
  
“It is a little difficult I suppose, acclimating myself to using your first name.” I tear my eyes away from his bare toes with some difficulty, looking out at the silver-etched lake instead. Quite beautiful.  
  
“I’m sorry about what Sirius did. He completely misunderstood what I told him about us.”  
  
“Sirius Black being a dense bastard is none of your doing, I assure you. He was like that before you got here,” I say with a shrug.  
  
“Sit with me, Severus,” he commands in a soft tone, patting the grass beside him. There is a confident calmness about him – as if he has searched for, and found, an answer to some burning question. I would so like to experience that for myself. I am sitting on the damp ground before I am fully conscious of my decision to do so. My trousers will be soaking.  
  
“The lake is very peaceful to look at, isn’t it?” he observes. I nod in agreement. “Lupin’s changing tonight,” I say. I don’t know why. Am I making small talk with Potter? I suppose I am.  
  
“I so wanted you back, you know. I couldn’t see straight for wanting you, Severus.”  
  
I peer at his profile. He keeps his eyes on the lake in front of us. I don’t know what to say.  
  
“I don’t know what to say.” I respond intelligently.  
  
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know you don’t love me in return now,” he says in an infuriatingly calm voice.  
  
“But I do!” Don’t I? Who do I love? Do I love this young man here, as he is today, or do I love my student of seven months ago? The Boy Who Hadn’t Yet Defeated Voldemort. “I think I do,” I amend. “Actually… I’m not sure anymore.” I add after a moment’s thought. “I certainly fancy you.” Incredible. I sound like a 6th year boy with commitment issues.  
  
I watch in bemusement as he doubles over laughing. Well, it beats his whipped puppy expression hands down. I can’t help but smile at his amusement as I revise my words.  
  
“You know, I haven’t the first clue what love is.” I announce in slow wonder. I really don’t. I’ve been happy to idealise Potter, to gaze from a distance, to love the unattainable. When I find out that I have in fact attained him, what do I do? Panic and run. Deny everything.  
  
“I could return your memories.” Potter offers tentatively.  
  
“You can?” My heart is hammering and I can’t think.  
  
“Mmm-hmm.”  
  
Make the right choice. What is the right bloody choice, dammit? Do I want the memories back, after all that has happened? Do I want to know the delights of Potter’s body? His love? Do I want to know the depths that I had sunk to in order to sleep with him in the first place? Do I want the guilt?  
  
Does not wanting those memories make me a coward?  
  
He places a hand on my shoulder. I can feel the heat of his palm through my robes. “Maybe we could make a new memory together.”  
  
“What do you mean?” I want no misunderstandings.  
  
“I mean this,” he whispers, and leans over to press his lips against mine. I didn’t pull away! I rant at myself silently – I should have pulled away, fled the scene. But… he’s not my student right now. I should have worked in the Wizarding legal profession.  
  
His lips are so soft, so warm, so bloody mobile as they work along my mouth, persuading it to open to his exploring tongue. I moan at the sensations threatening to overload my senses. It’s like a hit of morphine, so good, so very good. I lean into him and he reclines on the grass beside me. I follow him down and swing my leg between his. I grab his head and delve into his mouth again. There’s something wrong with all of this, but I couldn’t stop to save my life right now. I want him so very much. His mouth is hot and wet and moaning into mine. I hump against his hip and he gasps, breaking away and breathing heavily.  
  
“I want to make you come, Harry,” I whisper in his ear.  
  
“Ohgod.” He wheezes. I think that’s a good reaction. When I stroke his hard cock through his pants I’m sure of it. I fumble my way to his trousers button, then draw the zipper down slowly over his erection. “Ohgoodgod,” he pants.  
  
“Not a god, not even good. But I can be very bad, if you like.” I know it isn’t very fair, whispering in his ear – he’ll probably go off like a geyser. I pull his prick free and drink in the sight of it. I play my fingers along his length, getting the feel of it. “It’s beautiful, Harry.”  
  
“Th-thanks,” he gasps.  
  
“Do you want to slow down?”  
  
“Oh no!” he protests vehemently.  
  
“Do you want me to swallow?” I am  _such_  a tease. I feel a dark rush singing in my veins. A superhuman high. Who needs morphine when one can have sex with an eighteen-year-old?  
  
“Ohhhhh…”  
  
His cock is throbbing in my hand. “Yes, please?” I stroke him softly, teasing. He whimpers in response, thrusting up to increase the pressure.  
  
“Harry,” His glazed over eyes lock on my face, “I’m going to suck your cock now,” I state in a calm voice, though I feel anything but calm.  
  
“Ffffuck!” he slurs in disbelief. I adjust my position until I am faced with his crotch. I pull his pants down to his knees and then take him deep into my mouth. I can see his fingers digging into the turf from the corner of my eye. I breathe his scent in, musky, spicy; very nice. As I travel up and down his length his hips start to pump, and I put my hands on his pelvis to hold him in place. I tongue around the tip, play with the tiny hole, sneak in under his foreskin, lip strongly over the glans (another broken moan), and finally – when I feel him start shaking – take him down my throat and swallow around him. There follows a high-pitched, strangled gasp as his upper torso jolts upwards and he grabs my hair in frantic fingers.  
  
“C-c… coming!” he squeaks breathlessly. I swallow the flooding fluid. Still don’t much care for it, but this time it is sweet for reasons other than taste. He pulses a few more times and then lets my hair go as he slumps back down on the grass, his lungs labouring. I give his softening cock a couple of parting licks, which cause him to tremble violently, then lie back on the grass beside him to catch my breath. Now my robes will be wet all over.  
  
We lie there in silence. He is utterly spent whilst I am…  
  
I hear a faint sound in the distance. I struggle to identify it, wondering if I have imagined it. It comes again – a howl.  
  
Lupin.  
  
I sit up and look down in horror at the dishevelled figure beside me. What the fuck have I done? Potter frowns as he turns to look at me.  
  
“Severus? Are you alright?” I shake my head slowly. What can I say? I scramble to my feet. My heart thudding so painfully hard that I am sure I will fall over with a cardial infarction at any second. Potter lurches upwards, dragging his pants back up with one hand and grabbing my sleeve with the other. “What? What is it?”  
  
I face him speechlessly. I study him, all gleaming youth, hidden power, and lost innocence. It’s like seeing him for the first time, without the bias of unrequited love distorting my vision.  
  
He has none of Lupin’s hard won assurance, none of his ropy, tenacious strength, none of his cynical humour, none of his selfless concern, his tolerance, his unconditional… love? For me?  
  
Lupin loves me. I expect a thunderclap to accompany this revelation. He actually loves me – it’s not just attraction, or simple desire, or even a meeting of like minds – we are anything but. How long has he loved me?  
  
“I’m sorry,” And a very poor apology it is for what I have just done. “I… I shouldn’t have done that. It was inexcusable.”  
  
“Severus, no!” he protests. His voice sounds choked and his eyes look wounded. Dear Merlin, when will I ever get it right? I grip his shoulders in my hands.  
  
“Listen to me, Harry. I made a mistake before. You and I – we aren’t meant to be together.” He is shaking his head, but I persevere stubbornly. “I wasn’t thinking clearly a year ago, and I haven’t been thinking clearly recently either. I was using morphine to block out my emotions. I couldn’t stand feeling – feeling anything. I was a coward.” I rub his shoulders. I’m not sure whether it’s to comfort him or myself.  
  
“It’s taken me a very long time to grow up, Harry. Don’t take as long as me.” His face looks like it’s about to crumple in on itself. He takes a deep breath.  
  
“Be my friend.” Ah. The lad didn’t stand up to the Dark Lord without a great deal of backbone to aid him.  
  
“You can count on it for as long as I live,” I assure him. And I mean it.  
  
He nods once and steps out of my grasp. Something tears deep inside my chest, but the pain is a cleansing one. The amputation of a rotting limb.  
  
*** *** ***


	8. Part 11

**11\. “Naked Faith”**  
  
It is the morning after my unplanned assignation with Potter. I need to see Lupin but I well know how depleted he will be after last night’s transformation. Still, I’m not terribly fussy – I don’t really have a pressing desire to speak to him, I just want to reassure myself with his presence. The revelation that Lupin loves me is new and untested and I want to make certain that I haven’t imagined it. I have spent the hours before dawn in a state of utmost tension, working at my guilt and fear like a troublesome splinter. They refuse to budge for all my efforts.   
  
Does Lupin really love me, or is this the raving of an unbalanced intellect? Somehow I expect his mere presence to resolve this question. I don’t care to dwell on how frightfully unrealistic this expectation is, so I make my way to his quarters indecently early, wondering how the hell I will be able to rouse him from his exhausted slumber long enough to let me in.  
  
I knock on his door after another bout of uncertainty with the whole situation. Black answers it in vest and pyjama pants. For a wild second I think that I have somehow arrived at the wrong door.  
  
“He’s asleep, Snape,” he greets me with the surly pronouncement.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Have I been right about these two all along? My stomach fills with a cold lump. Has Lupin turned to Black for solace? Has he given up on me, thinking that I would take up with Potter once more?  
  
“I brought him some breakfast but I’ll have to come back later and wake him up to eat it. He’s dead to the world.” His tone is oddly unaggressive as he looks back over his shoulder to the room behind. I can’t see a damn thing past his bulk.  
  
“There’s no need to return, Black. I’ll stay with him until he awakens.” He looks back at me in disbelief.  
  
“You what?”  
  
“”I said I’ll…”  
  
“I heard you!”  
  
I sigh in exasperation, “Then why did…”  
  
“I just didn’t believe it!”  
  
“What is so unbelievable about…” I begin.  
  
“You never do favours for anyone, Snape!”  
  
Am I ever to finish a sentence in the presence of this imbecile? This time I choose to remain silent, not moving from my position in front of the door. Black’s blue gaze rests on me for an uncomfortable length of time. He narrows his eyes, I raise my eyebrow. Some seconds tick by while we maintain this childish staring contest. I will not be cowed. I will not give in. Black suddenly breaks into an enormous yawn.  
  
“Barmaid keep you busy last night?” I enquire thoughtfully.  
  
“Shut-up and come in, Snape.” He steps back and I am finally permitted to enter. I’ve never been inside Lupin’s rooms. I’d always delivered Lupin’s Wolfsbane to him in his office, or tracked him to the staffroom. I look around slowly. It’s very… homey. Not as tatty as its occupant usually looks, some obviously old furniture, but substantial, and originally of quality.  
  
It’s the little details that reflect Lupin… tartan cushions, by Merlin! And hand-crocheted rugs folded over the chairs. There is a tea service that seems to be in permanent residence on the low table in front of the settee. Royal Dalton, if I’m not mistaken, complete with chipped cups and a crack in the lid of the teapot.  
  
It’s like visiting a member of the gentry fallen on hard times. I’m left wondering how he managed to salvage all this from the castle… or maybe he didn’t. Maybe this is the last of the Lupin Estate. It’s a depressing thought.  
  
“Make yourself at home then. I suppose I’ll go and get some more sleep.” I turn to look at Black after this expressionless announcement. “And, erm, sorry about hitting you before.”  
  
Good Merlin! An apology from Black. It’s bizarre enough to stun me into speechlessness.  
  
He holds my gaze for a second, then gives a brief nod as he opens the door and leaves. I’m not sure what to make of this seeming capitulation, but it is a relief not to have to spar with him while I am in this preoccupied state.  
  
I move inevitably towards the bedroom. Opening the door, I see Lupin, not in the bed, but lying on the hearthrug in front of the dying embers of the fireplace. It looks as if Black has just thrown a blanket over his sleeping form and left him to it. I look around and see the tray of food on a small, round table in the corner. There is a wand next to it which I assume it is Lupin’s. On the nearby chair I can see his neatly piled, shabby clothes. He is naked. Of course he would be. A wizard in Lupin’s apparent state of poverty would not risk his robes being torn during transformation.  
  
I can’t help but think that he will wake up cold and cramping if I leave him there, so I step closer to his sleeping form and bend to lift him. He’s heavier than his slight frame would have one believe, and a weight that is comfortable when draped over oneself on a bed is not particularly comfortable when one has to lift it from floor level. As I stagger to his bed I reflect that I am surely too old for such chivalrous behaviour. I drop him from an inconsiderate height in an effort to spare my back any further torture. He yelps himself awake and lunges upwards. I yelp in return when his fingers claw at my neck.  
  
“Severus!”  
  
“Indeed, it is I,” I confirm a little breathlessly.  
  
“What are you doing here?” he rasps.  
  
“Apparently no earthly good whatsoever.” I can’t help feeling a touch morose at the turn the morning is taking. His blanket has slipped down, though, so I treat myself to a considered study of his chest and stomach. As I watch, his skin goosepimples. I look up at his face to see his knowing smile, and a surprising little blush! “Lupin, you’re blushing!”  
  
“Bollocks.”  
  
“You must be cold? Everywhere but your face, that is,” I tease.  
  
“Yes. But you look warm.”  
  
We stare at each other for a beat, then, “May I get in with you?” comes out of my mouth at the same time as his, “Would you like to get in with me?” comes out of his. He laughs and adds, “Oh, that can’t be a good sign, Sev.” And yawns so widely that I can hear his jawbone creaking.  
  
I start stripping off my robes and shoes. “Get under the covers, you need to sleep.” I take off my trousers as well and join him in his bed. It smells of him, and for some reason this relaxes me. He turns on his side and regards me sleepily.  
  
“I didn’t expect to see you for another two days,” he remarks.  
  
“So sorry to disappoint you, Lupin.” He moves closer as I am speaking and begins kissing my neck.  
  
“It’s not a disappointment, quite the opposite.” I have my eyes closed, but I know the moment that he stops. His whole body tenses beside me. I hear him take a deep lungful of air. I don’t want to open my eyes.  
  
“Lupin, it’s not what you think,” I begin.  
  
“You’ve been with Harry.” It is a bare whisper. I feel physical pain at the sound of it – an unbearable tearing and wrenching. Not now, not after all this!  
  
“I saw him last night. I got him off… and that was enough to show me the error of my ways. I want to be with you. Please, Lupin – please believe me. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, I don’t want… I know… that I can’t make any more – not with you.” He has moved away from me, no longer touching me, as I have babbled. He frowns a little.  
  
“You’re babbling,” he states bluntly.  
  
“I know. I think I’m scared. Bloody terrified, actually.” I am shocked by this observation, and, weirdly, it takes the edge off my anxiety.  
  
“What are you scared of, Severus?” Lupin asks. The answer is easy. He is still frowning slightly, but some of the stiffness has gone from his shoulders.  
  
“I’m afraid of fucking it all up.” I confess with a rueful smile. I know full well how successful I am at intimate relationships – that is to say, not at all.  
  
“What exactly are you afraid of fucking up?” His frown has muted to a look of amused curiosity.  
  
“This… here,” I wave my hand in a vague gesture towards him. Lupin’s eyebrows lift in question. The bastard is going to make me say it! I glare at him in protest – it has no effect. “You and me.” I finally mutter.  
  
“Ah.” Is that all the bastard is going to say? Have I been wrong (yet again) about everything? I find that I can’t bear to look into his eyes any longer and I study the wall behind him instead. “So. You’re over Harry, then?” The question startles me. Haven’t I just said as much? Perhaps I’m not the only insecure, fumbling idiot here this morning.  
  
“Yes. We are still on speaking terms and I have promised him my friendship, but that’s all.” I look back to see his reaction. He looks thoughtful.  
  
“And… you want a relationship with me?” Oh, this is getting ludicrous!  
  
“Lupin, we already have a fucking relationship!” Why this should cause him to laugh breathlessly I can’t imagine. Until I clear my mind and reflect on my choice of words.  
  
“Well, it certainly has been that, Sev!” he gasps out when his chortles allow speech. “Do you want more, then?” he asks, his eyes filled with sleepy mischief.  
  
“I really think I do.” I answer. I have a sense of stepping out into a void; I can see nothing and I have no idea how to proceed. Honesty could perhaps be useful at this point, “Hold me, Remus?” He smiles gently and moves to push me onto my back. His warm body climbs atop me, and his lips make contact briefly with mine before he lays his head in the crook of my shoulder. I can feel the serenity slowly seeping in through the pores of my skin, and, as I have never felt such a thing myself, I can only assume that it comes directly from Lupin.  
  
“I love you.” The admission is so taxing that I promptly fall asleep.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Dumbledore comes to me in my sleep. I know that I am sleeping because when he offers me one of his damnable lemon drops I accept it. I hate the things, but for some reason this one tastes like Lupin’s lips. Rather satisfying.  
  
“I see you’ve worked it all out, dear boy,” Albus comments.  
  
“I bloody hope so, otherwise I’ve just brushed off an irresistible teenaged wizard for nothing!”  
  
He chuckles appreciatively at this and continues talking in his customary paternal tone (death seems not to have inconvenienced him in the slightest), “You are making Remus happy, very happy, you know.” His eyes drift half shut, “I have been so worried about him over the years. He has been remarkably resilient though, carrying this burden, hidden from all… except me of course.” His eyes snap open to stare intently at me, as if he is waiting for my response. I have no idea what the old coot is on about but I murmur, “ of course”, not wanting to appear dim. His smile tells me I haven’t succeeded in hiding my lack of brilliance from his omnipotent gaze. Well, it’s not the first time, and the way he has singled me out in the after life, I daresay it won’t be the last. It’s a pity really. Of all our fallen he has most certainly earned his share of peace.  
  
“Albus, you should move on now.” I’m aghast that I have dared to instruct the headmaster. I blame my sleeping state for my presumption. I really am concerned about him, and I can’t help but try to ease his pain – the thing that holds him here. “We will all get through this time. It has been difficult, but you have taught us all well, Albus – you have made us strong.” Such eloquence! I never would have dreamt up such inspiring words had I been awake. I probably won’t even remember any of it either. What a shame.  
  
My apparition shakes his head slowly, a fond smile on his face. “Just a little longer, Severus, my boy… just a little longer. I wish to see Harry happy again before I go.”  
  
Bloody hell. That could be a while. “Please, Albus – don’t leave it too long! You will miss your chance!”  
  
“Don’t excite yourself, Severus. There is nothing to fear,” he whispers as he starts to fade from view. There bloody is something to fear! He may be trapped here for all time.  
  
“Albus! Come back! Listen to me!”  
  
*** *** ***  
  
“Albus!”  
  
“Whassit?” Remus’ tousled head rises groggily from my chest.  
  
“I had… a dream?” I blink at the dimly lit room. Wisps of memory fade from my mind leaving me vaguely anxious.  
  
“About Dumbledore?” he rasps.  
  
“Yes. I think so. I don’t remember…” I sigh, giving up any hope of making sense of my vague fears. I drag my fingers through his hair. It looks like so much straw, but it feels so soft. He smiles tiredly.  
  
“Are you okay?” He nuzzles at my neck as he phrases the query.  
  
“You’re always asking me if I’m alright! I’m not the one that has to suffer metabolic changes through each full moon.” I take a handful of hair and drag him up to look him in the eye. “I have never felt better in my entire life.” I state slowly and deliberately. He’s getting that dewy eyed look again, but this time it doesn’t confuse me. I roll over and pin his naked little self underneath me.  
  
“What’s the time?” he asks with a wicked grin.  
  
“It’s time for me to fuck you clear through to the floor, Remus,” I reply. I undo my shirt buttons and wriggle out of my underwear as he gazes up at me in amusement.  
  
“Now hold still, this won’t take too long,” I grin maniacally down at him.  
  
“Never were truer words spoken.”  
  
Cheeky bugger! “Would you like a gag?”  
  
“No thanks, Sev.”  
  
“Then shut up and spread them!”  
  
*** *** ***  
  
It’s when I am deep inside Remus that snippets of the conversation from my dream rise inappropriately from my subconscious. Something about Lupin carrying a secret for years? Something other than being a werewolf? Remus contracts around me and I happily lose my train of thought. I slide slowly back along his passage, slowly… back in… I am sweating with the effort required to control my speed and movement. I’ve never been inclined to take my time with him before now, selfishly using him for the most part, not that he ever complained – quite enjoyed it on occasion, I think. This time is different.  
  
I have him on his side with one leg bent towards his chest, leaving him conveniently easy for me to penetrate. This position leaves him relaxed, but also able to angle his head enough for me to kiss him, to watch him as he watches me. He knows it’s different – his eyes show things that he has never let me see before. He shudders often, his whole body shaking, and when I place my hand around his erection he whimpers, “No!” I move my hand to his chest, stroking through his fur. He turns his face and finds my mouth with his, tracing over my lips with his tongue. “I want to last as long as possible,” he explains in a rough tone – almost subvocal, almost animalistic, as though it were a growl impersonating a voice.  
  
“Hmmmm, yesssss,” I agree. I’m incredibly aroused, filling and filled to bursting, but I know that I can last. I’ve reached a plateau and I am perched precariously on its edge, watching and feeling for Remus’ flight. I’m giving him the fuck of his life. If that doesn’t guarantee me a relationship then I am hanging myself tomorrow.  
  
He shivers all over once more. I run my eyes over his body and now I think that could have been a mistake, because I have observed his cock weeping – a strand of pre-ejaculate falling to the bed, still connected like the webbing from a spider. I can feel my penis throbbing inside his tight, tight channel. “Oh, fuck,” I whisper against his ear. I’m losing it – a hot tingle begins to swell through my abdomen.  
  
“Oh, fuck!” he screams in reply, and thrashes around the bed, pushing his arse back further onto me, as I instinctively push further into him, but I can’t get any further into him without surgery. I want to push myself in there, I want a longer cock, I want to be inside his skin, to be Lupin…  
  
His left hand claws at my left buttock, his right hand tears the sheet from the edge of the mattress and his whole body stiffens. I force my eyes to stay open and watch as his prick pulses and bursts forth–Merlin! He feels wonderful, but it is the sight of his climax that sends me over into orgasm. It is the emotion rather than the physical sensation that fills me with ecstasy, and suddenly I understand why Lupin has been able to put up with my previous sexual selfishness.  
  
I thrust weakly, haphazardly, trembling as I come down. When I am fully sensible of myself I am shocked to find that I have been munching – not very gently – on Remus’ neck. “Um, you might need a high collar today,” I remark. He chuckles weakly and slides off my softening prick with a sigh. It feels wrong not to be inside him.  
  
“Severus,” he begins, then stops. I watch in concern as he turns to face me.  
  
“What? What is it?” I can’t bear the suspense, or the distance. I pull his face closer and stroke his hair with my fingers.  
  
“Severus… I didn’t know you could be like this.”  
  
Is that all? I smile back at him when I have kissed him enough to be going on with. “To be honest, neither did I.” I curl my lip a little, just for old times sake, as I add, “You’ve inspired me.”  
  
He snorts and pushes me onto my back, “Move over, there’s a wet spot here!” And he lays over the top of my sweaty, replete self.  
  
Nothing could be sweeter.  
  
I hope, with mute desperation, that Harry Potter also finds what he is looking for.  
  
*** *** ***


	9. Part 12

**12\. “The Resurrection”**  
  
It is the Leaving Feast, and almost a year since Harry Potter arose from the dead. He has managed to complete the seventh year curriculum in six months, allowing him to matriculate with his peers. I look over the sparse collection of students left to represent 7th year Slytherin and feel my mouth turning down.  
  
“Stop that,” a raspy voice commands me.  
  
I look to my right to see Lupin’s exasperation. “It’s a celebration, not a funeral,” he adds in a softer voice. I do love that voice. My eyes drift down to his lips, once more draped with a ridiculous moustache, and I imagine them against mine.  
  
“And you can stop that too,” he murmurs, shifting in his chair.  
  
I smirk at the blush stealing up his neck; I can still make him blush after all this time. I show him some mercy and look back to a roomful of adolescents who imagine they are all… grown… up. To be fair, they are probably a damn sight more grown up than my own generation was at this age. My right hand drifts over to touch my left forearm in a sort of sick salute to the Severus-that-was. Lupin’s fingers trap mine and he strokes my hand. I look up and he smiles at me. It’s not a happy smile, but I cannot describe the wealth of feeling I perceive in it. My chest expands with my intake of air, my shoulders dip from their rigidly square position; he’s done it again. He is my stable object.  
  
It is now time for maudlin speeches and I sit through the faculty’s twitterings with a sense of calm; possibly a first for me. Soon enough my own turn at the podium comes and I walk over with very little idea of what I am to say.  
  
“I cannot say it has been a pleasure to teach you all,” I begin. The students – soon to be former students – find this quite hilarious, and amid the laughter I hear the word “mutual”. A smile comes unbidden to my face. This has the effect of quieting the mob. I dart a quick glance at Lupin; he is leaning back in his chair, legs crossed and a grin on his face.  
  
“Nevertheless,” I continue, “You have all passed my senior class – some more successfully than others,” I send a pointed look at a couple of Hufflepuffs who had caused the use of more emergency containment spells than I am used to. They look down at their table and fidget. “And now you are to be released, unsupervised, into the world.”  
  
There is a happy murmuring from the assembled throng. It resonates in the stone chamber; yes, this is the Great Hall. At last Hogwarts stands again; possibly the only reason I am still here. Perhaps there is another reason.  
  
“I wish you all well in your future endeavours, but you should know,” I pause, considering my next words, “That you have already shown yourselves to possess honour, bravery and commitment.”  
  
I have stunned them speechless. “A year ago you had a choice; to assist us to evacuate the younger students or to get yourselves to a safe place. You all stayed to help those more vulnerable than yourselves,” I state as I rest my eyes on the remaining Slytherins. Their posture straightens, making my mouth quirk at the corners. “All of you have demonstrated that you are ready to take part in the wizarding world as adults, not by any grades attained – and for some of you that is a boon – but by your conduct during the attack on this school.”  
  
I sit down again next to Lupin. His lips are parted and he looks a little surprised. Gradually, the hall is filled with applause, and that surprises  _me_. I look up at the increasing noise level to see that the students are beginning to stand, led by the irrepressible Mr. Potter, who is grinning like a lunatic. I nod my head slightly in his direction and he presses a hand to his chest in mock swoon, falling into Weasley’s arms. I snort and roll my eyes. There is entirely too much butter beer at this event.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Later, I have my head on Lupin’s chest gathering air in heaving lungfuls while his fingers untangle my hair. Yes, this is the other reason I am still here, and likely to remain so for as long as Lupin is teaching at Hogwarts. Six months has wrought changes in me that I never would have imagined. I still teach in the dungeons – it is still the best environment for potions-making – but I now sleep in this eyrie; this lofty place of air and light and buffeting winds. Lupin’s quarters. Now, when I look in the mirror I see a man with crow’s feet at his eyes from squinting in the sun, and skin the colour of pale wood – not the sallow parchment pallor that it had been for twenty years.  
  
I wrap my fingers around my wand and cast a cleaning spell over Lupin’s belly and chest; he’d made a mess of himself. “Thanks, Sev,” he murmurs, still dragging my hair into order. He looks serene and that makes me feel serene; I wonder if that makes me some sort of emotional symbiont.  
  
A loud banging on Lupin’s main door disrupts our quiet interlude. I groan theatrically and roll off Lupin. He sighs just as dramatically and rises to drag on his robe, tugging his hands through the sleeves as he makes his way through the sitting room to the door.  
  
“Moony! You’re still up, that’s great!”  
  
It is the overgrown testicle, come to disturb our peace yet again. Joy. Black is like the unpopular relative that one inherits when one marries; he is part of Lupin’s life and I cannot escape semi-regular contact with him. I rub my hands over my face, cast another cleaning charm and start dressing. I shall give Lupin my support during this difficult time.  
  
I haven’t been listening to the voices from the sitting room, so I am taken aback when I enter to see, not just Black, but Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom seated on the sofa, swigging from beer bottles.  
  
“Severus!” Potter starts, nearly dropping his drink. “I didn’t know you were… erm,” his eyes flick to the door behind me, very obviously the bedroom door, and then flick to Remus’ bare feet. “Um, good to see you,” he finishes with an embarrassed smile.  
  
Black, who has all the charisma and tact of a herd of charging erumpants, remarks, “Oh, Merlin’s panties! Have you two just been shagging? I’m going to need something stronger than this!” And so saying he throws his bottle up and fires a spell at it, causing a multi-coloured shower of sparkles to cascade over the room.  
  
Lupin’s disapproving “Sirius!” is a bit half-hearted. I’m strangely thankful for the distraction. I move over to the remaining armchair and sit down. Lupin looks at me with a question in his eyes. I interpret it as “Shall I get rid of them?” I shrug and tilt my head slightly; non-verbal for “I don’t mind, your call.” He smiles slightly at me and leans towards Longbottom. “How’s your Gran these days, Neville?”  
  
*** *** ***  
  
It is an inordinate amount of time later and we are finally bidding farewell to our visitors. We may have a couple of hours left in which to sleep before the mass exodus of 7th year students begins. We stand watching Black, Potter and Longbottom lurch down the corridor. “Don’t fall on the stairs, Black,” I call out. Lupin pinches my bum. “Ow!”  
  
Potter turns back, grinning in our direction, then shocks me by grabbing Neville Longbottom’s face in both his hands and kissing him soundly. At length. Right in front of me.  
  
“What the ffff–”  
  
Lupin pulls my arm and I find myself back in his sitting room with the door slamming after us. I stand in the middle of the room, and find myself glaring at him. “He’s fucking Neville Longbottom!”  
  
“Yes, he is,” Lupin confirms quietly.  
  
“Fucking Longbottom!” Although that sounds like I’m repeating myself, Lupin seems to interpret my meaning.  
  
“Neville’s a good lad. He’s good for Harry; very dependable.”  
  
“But… Longbottom, for Merlin’s sake, Remus!”  
  
“Why is it a problem?”  
  
“Because, bloody hell! Longbottom! After me?”  
  
“Ah, now I see.”  
  
“See what? How could he rebound from me to fucking Longbottom?” Yes, there is a more than slight whine in my voice. Fuck it. “I suppose you think me arrogant? Egostistical?” I sneer at Lupin.  
  
“Oh, I know you are, Sev, no surprises there!”  
  
I can’t believe he’s smiling at me, as if this is a joke. “So you honestly believe that Longbottom is an adequate replacement for me? That we are somehow interchangeable?”  
  
“Goodness, no!” Lupin says, stepping up to stroke along my taut shoulders, “The point is that he  _isn’t_  anything like you. Harry has recognised that you two were never suited to each other, and Neville is his alternate choice. I think he has matured a lot over the past six months.”  
  
“Fucking matured, my arse.” Yes, I’m being petty. A small part of me, must be that inconvenient conscience again, agrees with Lupin. Longbottom is nothing if not steady and dependable. But so, so boring!  
  
Perhaps Potter has had enough excitement to last him for the time being. I sit down and tip my head back onto the cushions. “Potter and Longbottom,” I murmur, the vitriol seems to have expended itself.  
  
Lupin flops down next to me, takes my hand in his. “I still think you’re a sexy bastard, Sev, and I wouldn’t shag Neville after you.”  
  
The notion of Lupin and Longbottom in a lewd act together is enough to cause a laugh to wheeze out of me. Lupin joins in with a chuckle and before we know it we are both wiping tears off our cheeks. My earlier anger has disappeared, but more than that, it now seems wholly ridiculous. I take Lupin’s face in my hands, thumbs stroking away the last of his tearful laughter. I press my lips against his, pull some of that moustache with my teeth; flick my tongue against his mouth. He moans in the back of his throat and I dive into his mouth. Coming up for air we pant in each other’s faces.  
  
“Take me to bed,” I whisper.  
  
He rises, holding out his hand to me. I grip the stable object.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Just before dawn I see Albus again.  
  
“I’ve come to say farewell, my boy,” he says, his dim form seeming ever more translucent.  
  
“You’re leaving now? Is everything alright?” I ask anxiously.  
  
“Yes, Severus. Everything is as it should be now. My special boys are happy at last; you and Remus have found each other; Harry has found another; and Sirius… well, Sirius is happy in his own way,” Albus finishes, sounding a little less than convinced about Black. I certainly don’t care.  
  
“Are you happy, Albus?”  
  
“Do you know,” he glances around the room as if he is seeing something else entirely, “ I really believe I am, dear boy.”  
  
“I’m glad for that, Albus – I’ve been worried about you,” I say with a sense of relief.  
  
The headmaster’s form is drifting upwards as he says, “Worry no longer, Severus! I’m going to the next place now – all is well!”  
  
Albus, I’ll miss you! His thready form drifts higher and, like smoke, swirls out of the open window.  
  
“I’ll miss you!” I blink, the sun dazzling my eyes.  
  
“I’m still here, Sev,” Lupin smiles at me from the edge of the bed where he is towelling his hair dry.  
  
“So am I,” I state, a little dazed.  
  
“Dumbledore again?”  
  
“Yes, but he’s left. Really gone this time.”  
  
“That’s good, isn’t it?”  
  
I have talked to Lupin about my periodic visions of Albus. When they started I’d assumed they were drug-induced delusions, but I had gradually come to accept it as Albus communicating with me. It was only when the drug had cleared my system that I began to experience these visions in my sleep – how long had the morphine blocked him out? It’s a question I don’t like to dwell on.  
  
“He’s content at last. He was waiting for Harry to find happiness,” I reply, snorting when I remember with whom Potter has found happiness. “He seemed a bit out of his depth with Black,” I add.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“He said Black was happy in his own fashion.” I look at Lupin’s face.  
  
“Heh, yeah. One day he’ll settle on one special barmaid,” Lupin rasps, looping the towel around his neck. I give his body a considered study in the morning light. Changes have occurred here too; a less weathered appearance and ribs no longer inclined to bruise against mine, courtesy of a year of regular meals and wolfsbane potion.  
  
“He called us his ‘special boys’,” I say, reaching to snatch at the towel, dragging his head close. Lupin snickers.  
  
“What?” I ask with a smile.  
  
“’s what muggles call boys that are a bit slow on the uptake,” he says with a grin.  
  
“Hmph! I suppose we have been a bit slow,” I say, pressing my lips to his. “I’m all for making up any delay I may have caused.”  
  
Lupin crawls atop me. “Excellent sentiment, Sev.”  
  
Thank you, Albus.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
fin


End file.
